Tunnel O' Love
by Anne Apocalypse
Summary: Butch DeLoria/M!Lone Wanderer. This may or may not have been what the LW had in mind when Butch asked him to join the Tunnel Snakes. Rated M for language and sexual content.
1. Tunnel O' Love

_**Author's Note**: Unabashed smut. I might've accidentally gotten some plot in it along the way._

_This was written for the Fallout Kink Meme, for this prompt:_

_HOW ABOUT SOME FUCKING TOUGH LOVE BETWEEN TWO FUCKING TOUGH MEN BECAUSE THEY'RE THE MOTHER FUCKING TUNNEL SNAKES AND BITCHES CAN TAKE THEIR SHIT ELSEWHERE BECAUSE THESE TWO FUCKING MANLY MEN NEED TO GET THEIR DIRTY FUCKING TUNNEL LOVE ON. IN FACT, BITCHES CAN JUST GET THEM SOME BOOZE AND FUCK THE FUCK OFF BECAUSE NO BODY AND NO THING CAN GET BETWEEN LW AND THE BUTCHMAN. TITS ELSEWHERE THANKS, AND LEAVE THE POMADE._

_This pairing/concept grew on me like a tumor and what started as a one-shot turned into a series. It's published here as a single story for simplicity's sake, but please note that this is a series of interconnected vignettes rather than a single story arc._

_**TL;DR**: Think of these as episodes rather than chapters._

_Rated M for language and sexual content._

* * *

><p>"Fuck," Butch spits, shoving Jay against the wall of the empty dining room. Jay says nothing, just bites Butch's neck in a way that's probably going to leave a mark.<p>

This may not have been exactly what Jay had in mind when Butch asked him to join the Tunnel Snakes. Hell, it isn't what Butch had in mind either – well, not in the front of his mind, anyway – but fuck if he's gonna back out now. He had some initiation prank in mind for tonight but it goes clear out of his head as Jay yanks down the zipper of his Tunnel Snakes jacket.

"Who told you you could lay your motherfucking hands on my jacket?" Butch growls.

Jay shoves Butch's hands off his shoulders and yanks the jacket roughly down Butch's arms. The leather hits the floor with a smack. "What now, DeLoria?" Jay smirks.

In all their seventeen years, Jay's been the only one in the vault who doesn't take Butch's shit. Fuck, Butch knows his own bullshit is bullshit, he's not a fucking moron. It's the fact that no one else seems to, that he can leer and elbow his way around this fucking steel rat maze with nothing more than a few dirty looks, even from the goddamn Overseer. Because even he knows what's up. No one says shit to Butch DeLoria.

'Cept for James Junior here, only no one calls him James Junior because he'd punch them in the kidneys if they did that, reminding him whose kid he is, because let's face shit, nobody likes the fucking doctor, with his bitch accent that no one else in the vault has, and his fucking patronizing doctorvoice he uses on everyone like they were his kids, too. Jay has the good sense not to like his dad, even if he still loves him because he's his dad, and well, shit, that's what you do. Like, Butch still loves his mom in spite of everything but that doesn't mean he's gonna let her drunk ass or anyone else push him around.

Jay gets that. Jay's been mouthing off to his dad and everyone else since he could talk. Butch still remembers the first time Jay said 'fuck' to him personally, when they were like ten or some shit. In this room, in fact, like five feet from where they're standing. _Go fuck yourself, Butch. I'm not giving you my sweet roll._ Jesus, the whole room had gone silent. Butch grins involuntarily at the memory, and grabs Jay by the shoulders again.

Jay's always had a fucking mouth on him, and right now Butch wants that fucking mouth on his cock.

He tries to shove Jay to his knees, but Jay's not going down, the little fucker. Jay spins him, pinning Butch to the wall. "That how it's gonna fucking be, DeLoria?" He's got Butch's jumpsuit unzipped to the crotch and is shoving Butch's white undershirt up, bunching it under Butch's armpits while he bites at his nipples. This kid and his fucking mouth, Butch thinks, groaning as Jay's hand plunges into his underwear.

"Fuck," Butch snaps at the sudden friction as Jay yanks his cock out, all the while giving his nipple a hard suck. He's already throbbing like a mofo, has been from the minute Jay laid his hands on him.

Jay drops to his knees. About goddamn time.

Butch's vision swims for a moment as Jay grabs him in a rough fist and plunges his mouth onto the head of his cock. Teeth graze the sensitive underside and Butch curses again, grabbing fistfuls of Jay's hair, which if anyone did that to Butch they'd piss blood for a week because you don't fucking touch the Butchman's hair, but Jay doesn't do the pomade thing, wears his dirty-blond curls loose and lets them fall into his face and refuses to get a trim just to piss off his old man. It makes him look careless and sloppy and, Butch has to admit, pretty fucking hot. Girls try to touch it, like Wally's bitch sister, and unlike Paul who thinks getting chicks to hit on him is the fucking point of life, Jay just jerks his head away and tells them to fuck off and take their flirtygirl bullshit elsewhere, which is also, Butch thinks, pretty fucking hot.

Tugging Jay's hair, he tries to thrust himself deeper. Jay seizes Butch's hips with both hands and shoves him flat against the wall, holding him there as his rough tongue swirls, and god, those fucking lips. He looks damn good down on Butch's cock, and Butch tries to thrust again, but Jay keeps him locked against the wall, digging the heels of his hands into Butch's hips and pressing his elbows into his thighs. He's gonna have bruises. "Fuck," Butch gasps again as Jay sucks hard, his lips sliding up the shaft until Butch is deep in Jay's throat. He has to hand it to the kid, whatever his workout routine is, because his arms have Butch pinned so tightly to the wall he can't move his hips at all, and he's trying, straining against Jay, wanting to fuck his hot mouth. Instead he fists Jay's hair harder and snarls, "_Fuck_, Jay, your fucking cocksucking mouth," as Jay's tongue works him and the ache in the pit of his gut twists tighter and pleasure burns along all his nerves.

And Jay pulls off.

"God damn you," Butch gasps in frustration. The fuck is with this guy? But Jay's up again and pulling down the zipper on his own jumpsuit as he shoves his hips up against Butch, who feels a cock as hard as his own jabbing him in the hip. "Shit, this how you want?" Butch hisses, and goes to work pulling Jay's jumpsuit off his arms and down his waist, and shoves his hands under Jay's white t-shirt, pinching a nipple and enjoying the kid's gasp. If Jay wants to get fucked, then goddammit Butch is gonna fuck him, and good.

Jay smirks but pulls Butch's hands off him long enough to get Butch's jumpsuit down and pull his own t-shirt over his head. "Who the fuck came up with these things?" Butch mutters. Would it have been so much fucking trouble to issue vault uniforms that came in two pieces, so Butch wouldn't have to worry about tripping over his own sleeves as he shoves Jay toward the closest red booth? "This how you want it, huh?" He yanks Jay's suit down further, and his underwear with it. Jay lets himself be pushed around so Butch can grind against that tight ass, panting with anticipation. Butch has the decency to spit into his hand before reaching around to give Jay's cock a few strokes. He's not a total asshole. Jay sags against him, groaning.

Then he grabs Butch by the arm and hauls him around in front of him, and before Butch knows what's happening he's on his back on the red bench and Jay's crawling on top of him with that fucking smirk on his cocksucking lips. "You bitch," Butch spits, and Jay drops that mouth to Butch's cock again and drags his tongue up the shaft, the sensation smothering any further protests that might have risen in Butch's throat. A few more long drags and Jay stops, kicks off his boots and wriggles the rest of the way out of his jumpsuit, straddles Butch with one foot on the floor and one knee jammed between Butch and the back of the seat, and slides down on him so smooth Butch wonders fleetingly if Jay's done this before and with _who_, because Butch has actually never done _this_, and. . .god damn. Butch's eyes roll back and he groans at the hot tightness gripping him. "_Fuck_, Jay. Fuck." He pushes upward, and this time, Jay lets him push. He's sweaty and gonna stick to the damn seat, but who could give a fuck, with his dick deep in Jay's ass like this. Jay rolls his hips, grinding on Butch, and then grabs Butch's t-shirt to drag it over his head and toss it aside.

Butch and Jay have been beating the shit out of each other their entire lives and Butch knows his rival's tight, compact body pretty damn well by now but it's still fucking awesome feeling the squeeze of Jay's taut thighs around his hips, watching Jay's muscular chest heave with his motions and heavy breaths, his broad hand pushing back the curls falling in his face. He'll look good in the leather jacket but Butch knows he hardly needs it; Jay could walk around balls-ass naked all the time and still no one would fuck with him. Jay would look like a badass if you painted his nails and put ribbons in his hair. He's a natural.

He leans down to bite at Butch's neck and shoulders, grinding so fucking slow it's agonizing, until Butch gasps, "God _damn_ you, Jay," and grabs his ass to _make_ him move faster, harder.

Jay laughs and straightens, pushing himself up and slamming back down so fast Butch's vision goes fuzzy at the edges. The tension in his body spirals tighter as Jay rides him hard, harder, so fucking hot and tight, sliding faster and faster on him until Butch comes with a strangled cry, his whole body shuddering under Jay. Jay smacks his hip, hard. "Who's the bitch now?" he gasps out as he comes in hot spurts across Butch's bare chest. "You son of a bitch," Butch mutters, breathing heavily, but he doesn't mind, not really; it's pretty hot, actually.

Jay laughs again and slides off, and the intense drag makes Butch shudder again. He climbs off Butch and starts to grab his clothes, using his own t-shirt to wipe off Butch's chest as Butch peels his back off the vinyl-covered bench and sits up.

They get back into their clothes. Jay collects Butch's jacket and throws it at him. Butch catches it and tosses it back. "Take it. You're in." He's got a spare in his room his was planning to give to Jay, but he kind of likes the idea of Jay wearing _his_ jacket, even if no one else knows it.

Jay smirks, triumphant, and shrugs the jacket on like he was born to wear it. Fucker.

Footsteps in the hallway. It's Crazy Beatrice in the doorway, squinting in the darkness, probably up for a midnight snack or some shit. She opens her crazy mouth to say something, probably something stupid like _What are you boys doing up so late?_ like it isn't fucking obvious. Jay doesn't have his boots back on yet and his sticky t-shirt is still lying bunched on a table, and even Butch's hair is a little rumpled from being on his back in the booth.

"The fuck you looking at?" Butch snaps. "The motherfucking Tunnel Snakes, that's what. Fuck off."


	2. Shut Up and Shoot

Jay's in a fucking mood.

Amata saw him in his Tunnel Snakes jacket this morning and flipped the fuck out.

* * *

><p>Butch hadn't heard her that shrill since last year on the day of the G.O.A.T. when Butch and the guys were giving her shit and Jay told them to back the fuck off. A few punches were thrown and Butch walked away with his nose bleeding, but not before he heard Jay take Amata aside and say, "I'm not fucking doing this anymore. You need to learn to fight your own battles."<p>

"What's gotten into you?" Amata whined. "I thought you were my friend."

"I _am _your friend, okay?" Jay snapped. "If you weren't my friend I wouldn't fucking bother telling you this. You have _got _to toughen up and tell Butch where to go and how to fucking get there or he's never gonna lighten up on you. He gives me shit all the time but do you see me standing there taking it? That's how Butch is. He gives you shit, you gotta give it right back to him."

Butch didn't catch what Amata said next, as he was focusing on not bleeding on the floor, but she sounded all shaky and shrill and like she was about to fucking cry. Jesus, she made it too easy. It was actually good advice Jay gave her. Too bad she never fucking listened to him.

* * *

><p>And then this morning. Holy fucking hell, this morning. Butch could already hear her howling at Jay as he rounded the corner toward the dining room. "I don't believe you! Why are you doing this? You aren't like them!" Fucking on and on with that shit, and god damn if that shit wasn't liable to explode on Butch the minute he walked in the room, but Butch has never been the guy to walk away from some shit, so he sauntered in and headed for the Sugar Bombs like it was any other day.<p>

Amata gave him the stink eye as he passed but she stayed focused on Jay, and Butch kept an ear out in case he should step in, 'cause Jay was a Tunnel Snake now and Tunnel Snakes look out for each other, but they don't steal each other's fights either, so Butch went to the counter and poured himself some cereal. He heard Jay interrupt Amata's tirade with, "Jesus fuck, Amata, would you calm the fuck down?"

Butch took his cereal to the booth where Jay was sitting, not _that_booth 'cause the girls were already in it, and he smirked a little to think of them sitting where he was lying bare-assed naked eight hours ago. "You wanna let a man eat his fucking breakfast in peace? Tunnel Snakes rule, bitches can take their shit elsewhere."

Amata's eyes narrowed. "This is none of your business, Butch."

"Jay's a Tunnel Snake now. His business is mine and mine is his. Like, mutual fucking business, bitch."

"Tunnel Snakes rule!" echoed Paul, who'd just walked in the door and didn't know what the fuck was going on but never passed up an opportunity to represent.

Susie in the other booth swiveled to look over the back of the seat, which was kind of _what the fuck_ because normally Susie wouldn't give Amata the time of day, but here she was butting the fuck in. "I don't know why you bother, Amata. Asshole thinks he's too good for girls and everyone else? Sounds like Jamie's just a _big queero_."

Fun fact: Butch has never seen Jay hit a girl.

He half-thought this morning might be a first, though, because fuck. . . calling him _Jamie._Motherfucker.

Jay didn't even blink. His eyes rose from his cereal bowl for half a second, and he snorted. "Well, get on the fucking loudspeaker. You figure that out all by yourself, bitch? Lemme go find Brotch and tell him to re-evaluate your G.O.A.T. and sign you up for fucking rocket scientist. Your daddy must be proud. God damn." He surveyed the two pairs of stunned eyes and made a disgusted noise. "How are you dumbasses still breathing, seriously?"

Susie's mouth opened, but nothing came out. She didn't even seem to notice Amata, turning and fleeing the room.

Jay turned his attention back to his Sugar Bombs, but not before catching Butch's eye and winking. "Tunnel Snakes rule."

Paul slid into the booth beside him with a bowl of cereal. "Fuck yeah we do!"

"God," Susie muttered. "Gross."

"Who asked you?" Butch snapped. "Remind me who gives a shit what you think? Oh, that's right. Nobody."

* * *

><p>When Jay's pissed he either brawls or shoots things, and since the vault security guards are standing around looking bored, Butch figures he'll find Jay at the firing range. It's not much, a dead-end tunnel down on the Reactor Level made more cramped by the bulky storage crates lining the walls, and at the far end a few dented old metal spinners set up. But good enough.<p>

As he descends the stairs, Butch hears the _tang_ of a round hitting its target and faintly the _squeak_of the target swinging back, and as he rounds the corner he smells the faint bite of powder.

He comes up beside Jay, who's tucked his hair behind his ears like he only does when he really needs to see something, and his blue eyes are hard and narrowed as he aims. His jacket is off, lying on one of the crates, and the top of his vault suit is down, sleeves tied around his hips, just his white t-shirt, bare arms extended, all lean muscle.

"Where'd you get a fucking 10 mil?" Butch asks.

_Tang. _"Overseer's office."

"The fuck were you doing in the Overseer's office?"

_Tang_. "Stealing his 10 mil."

Butch accepts that. "Everything cool, man?"

_Tang. _"Cold as fucking ice."

Butch nods, silent, while Jay pops off another shot, and another, dead on each time. Finally Jay says, "Fucking girls, man."

Butch nods again. "Seriously." _Tang_. "Fuck 'em."

Jay nails another shot, stony-jawed, but when he lowers the weapon, the old smirk creeps back over his face. "Not in a million fucking years." He clicks the safety on and pops out the empty clip. "You want to shoot?"

Butch is really more of a blades than bullets kind of guy, but he takes the pistol and loads the magazine Jay hands him, clicks the safety off and lines up a shot. He doesn't shoot quite as straight as Jay – his bullet tings the outer ring of the target, but it's a hit all the same. He aims again, carefully down the sights, and is aware suddenly of Jay's hands gripping his hips, the toes of Jay's boots scuffing against his heels, under the pretense of checking his stance, but really, Jay's just touching him, and he's half-hard before he squeezes the trigger. _Tang_. Closer this time. Jay's hands tighten on him.

"Did you want something, or are you just gonna stand there groping me?" Butch grunts.

A sharp laugh grazes his ear. "Just shoot, you asshole."

Butch does, squeezing off shot after shot, a few good ones in there, until the hollow click tells him he's empty. He unloads and lays the pistol carefully on its side on one of the crates, and before he can turn, Jay's hands are sliding around him, one hand diving straight for his crotch. "_You _want something, DeLoria? You came looking for me." He bites down on Butch's ear, right on the cartilage, and despite his gasp of pain Butch goes from semi-hard to solid in seconds.

He doesn't resist the hand that unzips his jacket, pulling it off him, tossing it carelessly on a crate. Jay pulls him around and bites more than kisses, catching Butch's lower lip between his teeth. Butch runs his tongue over those teeth, which Jay takes as an invitation to bite it. Grabbing him by the hair, Butch slams their mouths together and their teeth knock against each other, tongues grapple fiercely.

Jay breaks away first, his finger finding the purple-red spot on Butch's neck from last night, but he bites higher, just under Butch's jaw. Butch pushes his knee between Jay's thighs and grinds against his hardening dick. He should've known that would only make Jay bite down harder on his neck, rolling his jaw, gnawing on him.

He shoves his hands up under Jay's shirt, dragging fingernails up both sides of his ribcage and pulling his t-shirt over his head, and fuck, he loves how that ridiculous hair tumbles over Jay's face. He throws the shirt somewhere without even looking and gives both Jay's nipples a hard pinch, and when Jay grinds his hips harder against him, he twists, enjoying the tight sound Jay makes in his throat. He slides his hands down to Jay's hips and yanks him closer, burying his own mouth in Jay's neck as he tugs the tied sleeves apart.

The lighting in this tunnel isn't great –kind of flickery and blue-tinged – but it's a lot better than the dining room at night and Butch takes full advantage of the view as he thumbs the head of Jay's cock and tickles the underside with his fingernails.

He's forced to let go then as Jay unzips and yanks his suit down and practically tears his shirt off, catching on his ears and probably wrecking his hair, which Butch'll make sure to pound him for later. Jay moves down him, biting anywhere he can catch flesh and bone between his teeth, collarbones, nipples, and his tongue traces a line straight down Butch's abdomen, stopping at the waistband of his underwear, which Jay tugs down and his hot breath hits Butch's cock.

"This the part where you're a cocksucking tease?" Butch growls.

Jay just _breathes_, the sonofabitch, sending an uncontrollable shudder through Butch's body, and then snickers viciously.

He fucking _crawls_ back up Butch's body, letting Butch's cock drag over his bare skin, down his chest and his stomach. He swings himself behind Butch, between him and the crate, leans back half-sitting on it and pulling Butch back against him, and one hand reaches around for his cock, giving him loose, light tugs that _aren't fucking enough_and Butch growls, "You are such a fucker." Jay's stiff cock grinds into his lower back and Butch can feel the pre-cum leaking from the tip against his skin. Fingers press hard into the left side of his neck and a thumb traces his jaw. "Oh, that how it's gonna be," Jay growls low in his ear, and rough fingertips run over his lips. Jay's hands are always rough, knuckles decorated with recent scrapes and old scars. Fingers push at Butch's mouth and he lets them in to the second joint before biting down. "Yeah, that's right," Jay hisses in his ear, fingertips stroking Butch's tongue as he sucks and grinds his teeth against the knuckles. "Oh yeah, who's got the cocksucking mouth now, DeLoria? Yeah, you and that fucking tongue, you'd look good with my cock down your throat, wouldn't you?" Butch bites down harder and Jay laughs, throaty and wicked.

He releases Butch's cock, son of a bitch, and Butch groans when he feels Jay's hand groping at his ass, first just pinching and squeezing and then delving into the groove, starting to spread him. He should've known Jay would pull something like this. Laughter is hot on his ear as Jay pulls his other hand from Butch's mouth. "You got something to say, Butchman? Want me to stop, just say so, huh?"

_Motherfucker_. Should've known Jay would do this, too, make him admit how bad he wants this, if only by his deliberate silence. Should've known, the bastard. Butch keeps his mouth shut, and Jay snickers, triumphant. He grips Butch's hip with his right hand, his thumb tracing a hard line down the crease of his thigh while his left hand sinks those two wet fingers into Butch. He grits his teeth at the sting and Jay mutters "Relax" in his ear. "Fuck you," Butch grunts back, but tries to focus on unclenching his muscles as Jay twists his fingers one way, then the other, because yeah, he wants this. He really fucking wants this.

Another finger pushes into him and Butch bites down on his own lip, focusing, and as he relaxes Jay's fingers start to probe, which is like nothing Butch has ever felt before. _Fuck_. He's aware of Jay still leaning over his shoulder, and hair brushing against his neck tickles strangely and makes Butch shiver. Everything is suddenly more intense, like Jay's touch deep inside him has cranked up the volume on all his nerves.

He's suddenly aware of Jay's finger's pulling out, the sudden loss of contact, and when he feels the head of Jay's cock press against him, so hard, ready, slippery at the tip, he reaches back with both hands and grabs Jay's ass to pull him forward, and Jay pushes into him in one smooth motion.

Butch pants at the sudden dizzying thrill of tightness and burn and pleasure, and Jay pulls back, almost out completely until just the head of his cock is inside Butch, and mutters in his ear, "You want more?" Butch groans his assent and tries to push back. Pulling away, Jay hisses, "Say it. I want to hear you say it."

Butch gasps, "I want more, okay, you bastard? Jesus, do you ever let up?"

Jay snaps his hips forward against Butch's ass, bottoming out balls-deep in him and grinding hard. He lets out a tight laugh-groan and Butch knows without seeing that he's smirking. "Not on you, Butchman. Never on you."

Butch's cock is painfully hard just straining in the cool recycled vault air and he tries to grab at himself since apparently Jay isn't gonna fucking do it, but Jay loops his arms around Butch's elbows and holds him back. "Uh-uh." He snaps his hips forward again, making Butch shudder. Jay's fucking _wrapped_ around him, and his bare chest is hot against Butch's back, both of them damp with sweat, and the _smell_of Jay envelopes him. He'd know him by his scent alone, his sweat, hell even his blood, all the times they've punched and grappled and rolled around on the floor pounding on each other, but right now it's headier and muskier, so much better.

"I'm gonna fucking murder you in your sleep," Butch growls, jabbing his elbows at Jay's ribs.

Fucking hell, he wants touch so bad, something, Jay's hand, his own, _anything_. "Fuck fuck _fuck_," Butch moans, barely aware of what he's saying anymore, the pressure of Jay inside him is so full and intense and still kind of burns, not that he cares because that spot where Jay's hitting him on every thrust in and dragging over on every retreat is sending shuddering waves through his body, so good but still not enough, he wants he wants he _wants_, fuck, _more_–

When Jay's teeth drag on his earlobe, sparks of pleasure jump and fan out over his skin and he has to bite back a whimper. When he growls at Jay, "I'm gonna making you eat your fucking hair," Jay only grips him tighter and thrusts harder and moans in his ear, and Butch throws his head back thralling against everywhere they're touching, straining against Jay's hold but never breaking it.

His eyes are closed when Jay's right hand leaves his hip, and after a pause, suddenly, _finally_, Jay's hand is slick on his cock making long, hard strokes, the tip of his index finger dragging over that sensitive spot on the underside and even though the touch is such a fucking relief at this point, Butch tries to hold back because he doesn't want this to stop, but Jay feels him holding back and pushes him harder and harder and over the edge, he feels his balls draw up tight as he comes so hard, harder than he can ever remember. Jay's hips slam tight against him as he follows with a low groan of, "Oh god, Butch, fuck yes," and sonofabitch, grabs a fistful of Butch's _hair_, and Butch would kick the shit out of him for that if it didn't feel really fucking good right now, with Jay jerking him through his last spasms and grinding out his own aftershocks.

When Jay's hold on him finally relaxes and they sag against each other catching their breath, Butch reaches out to steady himself on the crate they're leaning on, because he's not entirely sure his legs are going to hold him. Jay snorts. "You okay there, Butchman?"

"You're still a son of a bitch," Butch grunts.

Jay just snickers.


	3. Leaving Marks

_**Author's Note**: Inspiration for this fic came from these pretty, pretty things:_

_nekohellangel . deviantart . com /gallery/28591106#/d3c38wp_

_psycrowe . deviantart . com /gallery/#/d3h0i19_

_Upon further investigation I discovered that "Tattoo Artist" is a real potential Vault 101 career (for the tag skill Small Guns)._

_And at that point, this simply had to happen._

_Major, major thanks to my tunnelbro Mamasiha for tattoo-related consulting on this piece. All remaining fuck-ups are mine._

* * *

><p>Butch is facedown on a table, half-naked, thinking who's the motherfucker who convinced him that a full-back full-color snake tattoo was a good idea.<p>

Oh right, that's the motherfucker hovering over him with a needle.

* * *

><p>No one heard what Jay said to Brotch on the day of the G.O.A.T. or how the fuck that all worked, but a minute later he was swaggering out of the classroom with that smirk on his face with everyone else at their desks staring after him like, seriously, what the fuck.<p>

Word was, Brotch did Jay a favor because he likes his dad (which again, what the fuck?) but Butch thought, and still thinks, that Brotch just wised up and realized Jay doesn't do shit he doesn't feel like doing, plain and simple, and Brotch probably figured might as well give him a job he actually feels like doing so it would get done. Because Brotch isn't so dumb as he looks, though if he calls Butch a "hairdresser" again he's going set his desk on fire.

By the next day it was all over the vault what job Jay managed to extort out of Brotch.

Tattoo Artist.

What the fuck?

Since when is there a Vault Tattoo Artist? Never that Butch can remember. Never that his mom can either. Sure he knows what tattoos are, he's seen them in books, and some of them look pretty badass, but it never occurred to him that was something you could actually _do, _like_ here, now_.

Wally cornered Jay at lunch and demanded, "How the fuck?"

Jay just smirked and shot back, "The G.O.A.T. never lies, man, and the G.O.A.T. says I'm the motherfuckin' inkman."

Butch had to admit, he was impressed. Well, he didn't have to admit it out loud, and so he didn't. But he was pretty fucking impressed all the same. That was the day he first considered whether maybe Jay was Tunnel Snake material after all, because that maneuver had to be one of the snakiest damn things Butch had ever seen.

Everyone knew this was basically a way for Jay to do fuck-all every day for the rest of his life and still technically have a job, because hell if anyone was gonna let the shaggy-haired punk near them with a needle. Besides that there was no one to train him, since _there is no motherfucking Vault Tattoo Artist._

No one really expected Jay to start combing the vault database for information and digging out every pre-war book they had on the subject.

But that's what Jay did. And shit, it turned out Tattoo Artist was a legit vault career, or at least it was once, because Jay found a file on it, and soon after he went digging through the storage areas and turned up some crates of supplies. There's a fuckton of storage in the vault, has to be, considering it's stocked to last more or less indefinitely, and from what everyone says there used to be a lot more people than there are now. So it kind of makes sense there used to be some more interesting jobs. But still.

Jay holed up in his room, filling notebooks with practice sketches, and eventually, original designs, while the rest of them worked through their apprenticeships under their respective slave drivers - Chrissy slogging around with Stanley learning how to mop floors and incinerate garbage, Susie locked in a classroom with a bunch of screaming brats. Not all their jobs were such a drag; Paul was really digging the engineering track, and Butch found that training under the vault's ancient barber wasn't such a bad gig, though he wound up ditching half his sessions just on principle.

No one knew what the hell Jay was doing at the time and no one bothered to ask because when Jay was locked in his room it meant he wasn't starting fights and wrecking shit, and it wasn't until Butch spent some time in Jay's room recently that he saw the mountain of sketchbooks and realized how much fucking _work _Jay had actually done to get as good as he was.

* * *

><p>Jay leans in close as he works, close enough Butch can feel him breathe. It's a strange combination of sensations, the warmth of Jay's breath and his hands – even through the gloves Butch can feel the heat kicking off those hands – and the stinging buzz of the needle. Butch was more or less prepared for the pain – he doesn't love needles but he can handle them. It's the vibration that sets his teeth on edge. Like the dentist's drill, only instead of his teeth getting drilled, which is unpleasant enough, it's his skin.<p>

There's a brief moment of reprieve every time the needle lifts, followed by the smooth swipe of Jay wiping away the excess ink. Jay's working right over his spine at the moment and Butch grits his teeth, not realizing how much he's tensed up until Jay says, "Don't forget to breathe for me, Butchman." He half-expects a snicker to follow, but it doesn't. Jay gets real serious when he's in ink mode. None of his usual fucking around.

* * *

><p>Life went on and most people forgot about Jay's job, still kind of taking it for a joke and him for the resident deadbeat until one day, more than a year after the G.O.A.T., Jay showed up at lunch with the top of his vault suit down, sleeves tied around his hips, wearing one of his white t-shirts with the sleeves torn off. Bare arms. And on his left arm -<p>

On his left arm was a motherfucking snake.

A green and yellow snake with a thin black outline, curving and twisting up his bicep, the head on his shoulder with a narrow forked tongue flicking out beneath sharp fangs.

Of course Butch had already seen it (and been envious as hell) because they'd been fucking on a semi-regular basis and Jay had done the thing weeks ago, hiding it until it healed completely. It wasn't his first, either, just the first one he'd done to show off. No one else knew about it, not even Paul and Wally, and Butch couldn't help smirking, watching people walk by and do double-takes, and try to pass him close while pretending they weren't staring. Jay sat there shoveling noodles into his face like it was any other day, but you could tell he knew everyone was looking at him, and he was loving the shit out of it.

The next day Wally knocked on his door. "Hey, Inkman. Can I get some ink, man?"

The Overseer went and laid down a rule that no one under seventeen could get inked; he wanted it to be eighteen but that was kind of a joke because Jay himself wasn't eighteen. Jay already had his own rule in effect, what he called the Idiot Policy, which was that if you wanted ink from him, you had to be able to describe in detail what you wanted and he would sketch it out on paper for you and figure out where all the color would be if there was color, etc. You had to sit down with Jay and do all that in advance.

And then you had to wait six months, because they all had to live together in this rat maze and fuck if Jay was gonna deal with the consequences of your bad decisions for the rest of his life.

Wally tried to talk him down to three months.

"Six," Jay said. "Fuck off."

Where in the hell he'd developed that kind of patience was anybody's guess, but when it came to his ink Jay had it in spades. Patience, and a steady hand.

* * *

><p>Butch draws a slow breath and tries to focus more on the warm pressure of Jay's hands against his back, and less on the feeling his spine's gonna jump out of his skin.<p>

"How the fuck do you do this to yourself?" he grunts.

Jay lets out a short laugh. "Very carefully." There's a pause as he shifts his position over Butch. "Not gonna lie, some of my early stuff's kinda shaky."

"Still look good, though." Of course the closest he gets to Jay's early trials on his thighs is on the rare occasion he's got Jay's cock in his mouth, and pretty much everything looks good from that angle.

Jay's moving away from his spine now, and the drone of the needle is becoming less bone-rattling. "Almost done with the outline. You want a break when I finish it?"

"Nah, let's keep going. Might as well get it done."

"It's a big one for your first, but I knew you could take it," Jay says with obvious satisfaction.

Butch snorts. "I can take anything you can dish out."

Jay snickers a little. "I've noticed."

". . .You're a bastard."

"You know you love it."


	4. Light at the End

_Welcome to the fourth installment in Butch and Jay's Tunnelrific Adventures. Damn, this thing got long._

* * *

><p>After midnight in 101. They sleep in the clinic now, on the cots and on the floor, since the rebellion started, keeping away from the rest of the vault and close to each other. Amata's asleep on a bare mattress. Butch is on watch.<p>

His fingers idly rub the handle of his switchblade, worn smooth from years of use, warm where it sits in his palm. Flicks it open, flicks it shut. Butch isn't good at sitting still. Might have to get up and pace the hallway for a bit.

So far, the Overseer has said he won't use violence against them. Butch knows better than to believe that. Lucy Palmer - she insists they call her Lucy now, says they're all equals down here, even though she's about a million years older than all of them - is constantly reminding them all to watch their backs, never take the enemy at his word. There's no question in her mind who The Enemy is – not after what happened to Jonas. She's turned out to be pretty badass for an old lady. Without her and Mr. Brotch on their side they'd just be a bunch of shit-talking teenagers, but with them? It feels real. It's a real rebellion.

Sometimes Butch could stand for it to feel a little less real.

He's on edge tonight, jumping at every noise, and there are a lot of damn noises in the Vault. Things used to run quieter but lately it seems every old thing is breaking down. His skin prickles; he hears hums, hisses, murmurs where there's no one in the steely darkness. Amata shifts and groans in her sleep. Nightmare probably. Butch is wondering if he should nudge her awake when he hears something, something real - the unmistakable squeak of boots on the stairs at the end of the hallway – the only entrance to this wing that they haven't blocked off. Someone's coming up. Someone who isn't bothering to be quiet.

He jumps to his feet, flicks out his blade. Sounds like just one person but you never know for sure. He prowls out into the dim hallway just as a figure clad in black and blue crests the stairs, accompanied by the familiar green glow of a Pip-Boy.

It's not even the jacket that stops him in his tracks, even though he and Freddie are the only ones down here who wear the jacket anymore. It's the hair. Shorter now by a good few inches than when Butch last saw him, but even in the dim nighttime lighting there's no mistaking those messy, dirty-blond curls.

"Ho-ly shit," Butch says out loud.

* * *

><p>Damn, but it's good to see Jay.<p>

He's been saving this right hook just for him.

His punch connects with Jay's mouth, and he staggers back, his lip bleeding. "You son of a bitch," Butch hisses at him. Weeks of fury tied up in his gut, all this bullshit, the fires and roaches and fighting and death and Paul, the lunatic Overseer and Jay just fucking _gone_. Fuck. He lunges at Jay again, god yes, he's been wanting to beat the everloving shit out of him ever since that fucked-up morning.

* * *

><p>Waking to the drone of alarms and the flash of emergency lights. Thought it was a drill at first. Until he heard the chittering and his mom shrieking.<p>

Oh, fuck, he _hated _radroaches. Could _feel _their creepy little legs under his skin just looking at them. If he'd been more awake, if he'd been thinking clearly, he should've just grabbed his old BB gun and taken 'em out - he thought of it later and wanted to kick himself - but it was like he just froze up, stomach churning, not entirely sure this wasn't a nightmare, and how the fuck did they get in here? Why the fuck was their door open? His mom must've been drunk again, left it open, but how were there so many -

He still doesn't know what would've happened if Amata hadn't come tearing in at that moment. "Butch-" she began, but stopped when she saw them, pulled a ten mil out of her belt, and popped off six or seven shots while his mom wailed, "Oh my god oh my god oh my god," still drunk off her ass and as terrified of the pistol shots as of the roaches.

With them dead and the chittering gone, his head cleared a little and the sickening crawling sensation started to subside, and he ran over to his mom, who was huddled on the couch clutching a bottle of vodka and crying. "Ma, it's gonna be okay, a'right? Did you get bit? Let me get you a stim-" He glanced up at Amata suddenly. "Thanks. _Thanks_. How did you- Why do you have a -"

"My dad's." She shoved the pistol in her belt and Butch noticed her hair was messed up, and there were heavy circles under her eyes. "I was gonna give it to Jay, but," she let out a desperate-sounding laugh, "he already had one. Butch, he's gone. Jay - his dad broke out of the vault and he followed him. I - I made him go, I had to – it was – It's my dad, he was - Butch, I don't even know, he's completely lost it." She shook her head, and her voice trembled a little. "I have to stop him, I need your help, please. . ."

Butch just sat there for a few moments in shock; she was still talking but he was barely managing to process what she'd just said.

"Yeah. Fuck." What else could he say? "Yeah. I'll help you."

* * *

><p>Just like that, they were allies. Not friends. They couldn't really be friends. But they could work together, the Overseer's daughter and the leader of the Tunnel Snakes, and that meant something to people, apparently, because soon they had more allies, and before long, a full-on fucking rebellion.<p>

What that meant, in practical terms, was they blocked themselves off in the clinic wing, slept on a dirty floor and refused to do their jobs until their demands were met, namely that the Overseer open the vault and let them go outside. Amata had all these ideas about trade and shit, but as far as Butch was concerned, the very _second_ he had a clear path outside he was the fuck out of here. He already would be the fuck out of here if the Overseer hadn't stationed a whole shitload of armed security guards at the entrance, and anyway he _had_promised Amata he'd help her. She'd saved his mom, after all.

* * *

><p>It was Amata's idea to send the message. Butch hadn't even realized they could transmit to the outside, but she'd been looking into these things.<p>

"It's going to be all-out civil war if we don't do something soon, Butch."

"What is it you think he's gonna do, exactly?"

"He'll help us."

"Help us _what_, though?"

"I don't _know_, okay?" Butch sighed. For their fucking leader, Amata was terrible with details. "But he's _out_ there. And if he knows we need him-"

Where Amata got this idea Jay was gonna swoop in and save the day Butch couldn't imagine. But yeah, he was out there. Out there in the fucking nuclear wasteland they'd been warned about their whole goddamn lives. The Overseer is all that stands between you and the Horrors Outside. Be grateful to the Overseer who keeps you locked in this rat maze for your own good. Worship the Overseer because without him you'd be Outside getting torn limb from limb while your skin rots off. Lick the Overseer's balls for he is the Rat King of this fucking maze. Fuck that. Snakes eat rats, motherfucker.

Jay was a tough sonofabitch. He'd be fine. Had to be. But it was hard to shake the nightmare stories they'd grown up with, of impenetrable radiation and giant mutated monsters and scorching heat and violent storms. Still. Think that'll stop a Tunnel Snake? Think that'll stop _Jay_? Fuck no. Fuck no. Just, no.

* * *

><p>He tackles Jay to the floor and throws another punch, and this one Jay deflects. "You <em>fucker<em>," Butch gasps. "_Bastard_." They grapple for a minute and Amata comes running out from the clinic, flailing her arms around. "Oh my god, _Jay_! Butch, stop it! Stop it - guys! Jay! Butch! What the hell is wrong with you? Stop fighting! Why won't you ever listen to me-" And goddamn, if Jay was ripped before he left the Vault he's a fucking _beast _now, and it occurs to Butch that popping a boner is probably not sending right message right now but _damn_. He comes back to reality when Amata gives him a sharp kick in the ribs. "For god's sake, Butch, stop it!"

He and Jay pause and stare at each other, panting a little, both a little bruised but no real damage. Butch realizes Jay wasn't even really fighting back, just holding him off.

"Fuck man," Butch says. "Let's go have a beer or something."

Jay shoves Butch off him and fishes a bottle of whiskey out of his pocket. "This do?"

"Hang on!" Amata offers Jay a hand, which he doesn't take as he gets to his feet. "Jay, _you came back_. You got my message!"

She throws her arms around him.

"Oh, here we go," Butch mutters. Jay's gonna need that drink when Amata's through with him.

* * *

><p>It's like an hour before Jay extracts himself from Amata and the rest of the rebels jumping all over him. Butch half-expects him to just tell everyone to fuck off, but he actually seems to give a shit what's going on, and Butch wonders what he's got up his sleeve. For now he just listens to all the little pieces of the story getting thrown at him. Nods. Doesn't say a whole lot, and nothing about himself. Nothing about what the hell he's been doing for the past five weeks.<p>

Finally he and Butch duck into the empty apartment next to the clinic, settle in on the floor leaning against the wall, and pass Jay's bottle of whiskey back and forth.

Butch reaches over and grabs a handful of Jay's hair. "Who cut your fucking hair, man? You look like an asshole."

Jay grins. "Robot."

"The fuck did he cut it with, a hacksaw?"

"You want to have at it, Butchman? You be my guest."

Butch runs his fingers through to the ends before letting go. "I can even it out for you, but you should let it grow out again."

Jay takes a swallow of whiskey and turns serious. "So Butchman, you gotta fill me in. What the fuck's up with Wally?"

Butch snorts. "Oh, you ran into the _traitor_, huh?"

"Jesus, he just up and quit?"

"It's his fucking father. Turned him on us right after you left. Said it was you that shot Stevie."

"Yeah, it was. And I'd do it again if I had to. Sick fuck."

"Hey, I'm with you. No fucking loss. But Wally took his dad's side."

Jay sucks his breath in sharply. "He ditched the Snakes for that fucker? Son of a _bitch_."

"I know. Un-fucking-believable, right? When even _Susie _can see the writing on the wall. . ." Butch's eyes travel over to Jay's jacket, lying with his on the bare bed against the far wall. It's warmer than it should be in here - probably the vault's climate control fucking up again – and so they've both got them off, and their suits down and tied at their waists. Seeing their jackets side by side it's obvious Jay's is a little worse for wear. There's a faint layer of some strange dust on it, too, on all his clothes – Butch got it on his hands when they were wrestling in the hallway. A weird chill runs down his spine, thinking of where Jay's been in it, out _there_ all by himself, and at the same time it kind of thrills him seeing the jacket weathered from the wastes, how he can tell Jay's been wearing it every day. "Glad to see _you're_still representing."

"Fuck yeah, man. Tunnel Snakes for life. I see we got Freddie now, too."

"Yeah, Freddie's solid." That, and he had to recruit _someone_after losing his entire fucking gang in a space of about two days. "He's like a different guy since the rebellion started. Like it kicked the life back into him. It's weird but he's like happier than he's ever been."

Jay nods. "I talked to him a little. Good to see him holding his head up." He pauses, then exhales slowly. "He told me what happened to Paul, man. God. I'm really sorry."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I know. It was my dad's fault." Jay balls his hand into a fist, then releases it, pushes his fingers through his hair and lets out a harsh sigh. "Paul was a good guy. Didn't deserve that. Dad could've helped him if he'd been here, but _no_, helping the people it was his fucking _job _to help wasn't good enough for him."

There's nothing Butch can say to that, so he doesn't. Instead, after a moment, he says, "Paul was a good guy." A loyal brother, unlike _some _people. "We'll always remember him."

Jay raises the bottle. "To Paul."

"To Paul."

They're silent for a few minutes, drinking.

"You ever find your dad?"

Jay's jaw tightens. "Fuck my dad, man. Seriously. Fuck him."

"You didn't find him?"

"He's dead."

"Jeez, man. Fuck. I'm sorry."

"Fuck him. He was a fucking asshole and it's his own damn fault he's dead." Jay's voice is tight with anger and he's white-knuckling the whiskey bottle like he's gonna crush it in his hand. It's dawning on Butch that however pissed he's been at Jay for leaving, it's nothing on how furious Jay is at his dad for making him.

"You want to know why he did all this? What he fucked up all your lives for? A water purifier." Jay laughs harshly at Butch's incredulous stare. "Yeah. That's the kind of guy my dad is. Thinks in the whole fucking wasteland he's the only one who can build a goddamn purifier. He must have been amazed the fucking sun still came up without him for twenty years. I guess Old La- uh, Lucy probably told you I wasn't born here? Yeah, apparently when my mom died, Dad freaked out and abandoned all the people he was working with so he could raise me in a fucking rat maze." Jay shakes his head and snarls, "I always knew he was full of shit, Butch, I _knew_there was shit he wasn't telling me, but goddamn, I had no idea.

"You know, it's really not that bad out there. I'm doing pretty good, actually. 'Cause I do work, I get paid, I don't try to be anyone's fucking savior. You _help people _out of the goodness of your fucking heart, they get to expect it of you and then they never leave you alone, always expecting you to fight their battles for 'em. If you're smart you put that shit down before it starts, tell 'em where to get off and yeah, they don't fucking like you, but they learn. If you're an idiot like my dad, you get all high on playing their fucking messiah and next thing you know you're doing some stupid shit like hurling yourself in front of an overloading reactor for a bunch of knuckle-dragging wasteland shits who don't give a fuck and will never stop taking advantage of you even after you're _dead_ and_ we lost it anyway_. You radded yourself to death for nothing. For fucking _nothing_." Jay's fist slams into the floor. Butch doesn't think he's ever seen him like this.

He's starting to see the picture. There are still a lot of missing pieces but he doesn't think he should ask right now. Jay looks like he's about to overload himself.

"All that about wanting me to be safe. . . what a bunch of bullshit. Swear to fucking god, Butch, I never met a man who could spew bullshit all over the place with as much sincerity as my father. First it was all 'Boo hoo, why didn't you stay in the Vault, I just wanted you to be safe, wah wah wah.' Thanks Dad, 'cept they tried to fucking kill me the minute you broke out. Oops, didn't think about that, did you?

"Then we get to the purifier, and he's all, 'Hey there son, none of us can fight for shit! How 'bout you clear out the supermutants and we'll wait out here with our thumbs up our asses?' I mean, I can take out a dozen muties no problem, it's the fucking principle of the thing. Keep me safe, my ass. He wanted to keep me out of the way, and he could've just fucking said so, and then he's all, 'How 'bout you run around flipping some switches for us 'cause I know you don't fucking have anything better to do!' and the team is all looking at me like, 'Oh look, James has his kid doing shit work for him, how cute!' And now everywhere I go I get to hear about how fucking awesome my dad was, and if I don't unquestioningly agree, then I'm the asshole."

"Fuck," Butch says when Jay stops for air, because he doesn't know what else to say, and because he still doesn't entirely understand what all that meant.

"Yeah. I never shoulda gone looking for him in the first place. Only reason I did was 'cause he might have an idea how to get back in-" Jay breaks off and stares at the floor, his eyes hard as steel. "Shoulda left him floating in that sim in 112. Hell. He'd still be alive."

Jay sighs, leans his head back against the wall. "I met this guy Three Dog, runs a radio station out of DC. He's kinda full of shit himself, but. . .he's an okay guy. Told me I was nothing like my dad." Jay rolls his eyes. "Nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. Everywhere I go, anytime I meet someone who met Dad, it's all, 'You look just like your father.'"

Butch snorts. "You must get tired of punching bitches."

"Butchman, I never get tired of punching bitches, just listening to 'em talk."

"What's it like out there?" Butch asks, changing the subject.

Jay relaxes a little. "It's pretty sick out there, man. Not even that hard to make a living – scaving, odd jobs, hell, I can get paid for fighting. Met this crazy chick Moira – seriously, she's completely batshit but she pays me to do some crazy fucked-up stuff. Like get all irradiated and then come back so she can like, experiment on me." Jay laughs, his voice easier now. "And check this out." He holds up this giant-ass metal glove thing. "Powerfist. Finding new and better ways to punch the shit out of things, man, that's what it's all about.

"I guess you're going back out there when you're done here. . ."

Jay takes a swig and says like it's the most obvious thing, "You're coming with me, right?"

"Well I'm sure as fuck not staying here in this shithole."

Jay laughs, and raises the bottle again. "You're gonna love it out there, man. Wide open space, we can go anywhere, do whatever the fuck we want." He caps the half-empty bottle and sets it off to the side. "Speaking of which. Before Amata comes looking for us." Jay jumps up, hauls Butch to his feet and presses him against the wall.

Like always, Jay's hands are on him and he's instantly aroused, even more so right now, because what with everyone sleeping on mattresses in the clinic there's not a lot of fucking privacy. Add all the tension lately, add Jay suddenly here, suddenly shoving him up against a wall, and well, yeah. Heat rushes straight to his cock as Jay's body presses against him and his mouth moves up Butch's neck, up under his jaw. He's hard even before Jay's hands travel down, harder when he feels one hand grab his ass and the other hand wrap around his cock. Oh god.

Jay's teeth catch his ear, but not hard. Almost _gentle_. Which is weird, but Butch only has a moment to think about it before Jay drops to his knees, pulling his suit and his underwear down as he goes, and then Jay's mouth is on him, swallowing his cock like he's the last drink of purified water for a hundred miles. He's not holding back. Not teasing. Not fucking around.

And that's weird.

It's almost like he's. . . _apologizing_. And that's _really_not like Jay. It feels more than a little fucked up.

Not that Butch is complaining, exactly.

His head drops back against the wall. Oh, fuck. This one's gonna be over fast. Jay's going at him without an ounce of reserve and it's just been too damn long. Jay takes him deep, and even in the unusually warm room his mouth feels so startlingly hot, or maybe he's just oversensitive right now. Butch leans heavily into the wall and moans as Jay swirls and sucks in that way he does, how he likes to push him right to the edge before backing off. Except he isn't backing off. Butch buries his hands in Jay's hair before he comes down his throat, and the feel of that wavy hair between his fingers as Jay swallows around him is so familiar and almost unbearably good.

But goddamn it, this still isn't _right_.

He has no fucking idea what to say afterward. Normally he'd call Jay a cocksucker and Jay would laugh at him and they'd go back to whatever it was they were doing. But nothing's normal anymore and he can't stand it that the one thing he's wanted more than anything else is here and yet somehow _off_.

"Stop it with the guilt thing," Butch says finally.

"What?"

"Stop giving me guilt eyes and. . .shit. Yeah, I was pissed. I punched you in the face, I'm over it. Stop acting all apologetic. You're freaking me the fuck out."

"Sorry."

"Goddamn it, that's exactly what I'm talking about. Stop saying shit like that."

Jay doesn't answer.

Butch gives him a shove. "I mean it."

Jay glares. "I _am _sorry, okay? I should've-"

"_Don't_ fucking _apologize_ to me," Butch spits out. "Tunnel Snakes don't apologize for _shit_. You know who fucking apologizes? Bleeding heart do-gooders like your _father_."

Jay's jaw stiffens. Good. Finally a reaction.

"Yeah, you heard me, asshole. You're acting like your dad."

_Bam._Jay's fist in his jaw sends him reeling back and only the wall prevents him from going down completely. He's aware that if Jay had been wearing his powerfist, he'd be dead right now. Before he can recover, Jay grabs him by his shirt, hauls him around away from the wall and tosses him flat on his ass.

As Jay descends on him Butch lands a hook to his ear, drawing a muttered curse and a fist in his own ribs. He gets his knee free enough to rock to one side and use the momentum to snap the other way and flip Jay. He pins him to the floor. Fuck no.

"Stop letting me win," Butch growls. "You can kick my ass. Everyone knows you can kick my ass. _Fight me_, you cocksucker."

He's on his back again before he can breathe, the wind half knocked out of him.

"Butchman, Butchman," Jay murmurs, a sudden deadly calm in his voice and his weight pressing Butch into the floor, holding him down. Fuck. About damn time. Butch struggles against him, tries to shove him off; Jay doesn't budge an inch now. He pushes Butch's head flat against the cold steel floor, hands on either side of his face, running back over his jaw and into his hair, fingers curling into fists. Fuck yes. "This what you want from me, huh? Good to see some things don't change." A smile starts to quirk up at the corners of his mouth. Fuck, that mouth. Butch lands a jab in his ribs and Jay's grin widens.

"You better not be goin' soft on me," Butch says guardedly.

Jay laughs, grinds his hips against Butch. "This feel like I've gone soft on you?"

No, it doesn't. And damn if Butch doesn't feel himself stiffening again already. He works his elbow between them for leverage and shoves upward with all his strength. Still can't push Jay off, though he feels Jay's muscles strain this time to hold him down, and goddamn that is such a fucking turn-on.

He tugs at Jay's t-shirt and when Jay straightens up to pull it off, Butch catches him off guard, shoves him over onto his back and swings a leg over him. Knows damn well Jay could stop him if he really wanted to, but instead he just throws the shirt aside, grabs Butch by the back of the neck and pulls him down into a heavy, open-mouthed kiss. Fuck, he tastes good. Like whiskey and like _Jay,_and like something else that's maybe wasteland dust, and another shiver runs down Butch's spine. When they come up for air, Jay's eyes are open and staring at him, hard and blue and piercing.

Butch sits back to strip the rest of Jay's clothes off because fuck he really wants him naked right now, running his hands over him. He knows pretty much every inch of Jay's body and every image that covers it, from the twisting figure of the snake on his left arm to this one other one he particularly likes, the wolf on Jay's right hip, all black and coming at you dead on with one paw raised like it's prowling, jaws just barely open in a growl. The wolf's always looking straight on at him, giving him this hungry stare, kind of like Jay does, like he is right now as Butch runs teasing fingers up both sides of his cock. Butch is longer but Jay's thicker than he is, not that he's comparing but they've been all kinds of naked together more than enough times to know every contrast between their bodies. Jay's gotten a little color outside but his skin is still a lot paler, his hair is finer, he's just a shade taller, and yeah, Butch has seen their dicks side by side enough to know every subtle difference in their shape. He rubs his thumb up the underside a little harder, and Jay grunts softly. Butch smirks. "Miss me, huh?"

Jay suddenly pushes himself up to a sitting position, pulling Butch's t-shirt off and without even seeing it his hands trace the shape of an S, the green and yellow snake on his back. There haven't been many days since Jay left that Butch hasn't twisted in front of a mirror to see it, just for a minute.

"You do work," Butch says. It's a thing they say in the Snakes, from something the Overseer used to say anytime he saw someone standing around. It started as a joke, mimicking him – _Do work, son!_ – and somewhere along the way it turned into a compliment, _You do work,_meaning you get shit done, you're fucking good at what you do.

"I do, don't I." Jay's palms press flat against his back for a moment, and slide down to his hips and tug at his jumpsuit. Butch shifts to get it the rest of the way off, and once he's naked Jay grabs him and flips him on his back. Butch gasps as his bare skin hits the cold metal floor and Jay's hot weight lands on top of him again, pinning him down. He throbs. God, he's missed this. Jay gets a hand in between them and wraps his fingers around their cocks, rubbing them slowly together, and the pressure's enough that Butch groans. He grinds up against him and Jay presses down on top of him and his eyes, fuck, his _eyes_just keep boring into Butch with that dirty, hungry stare. He frees his hand for a moment to bring it up to his mouth and run his tongue over his palm, then reaches back down, lifting his hips a little, lessening the pressure so he can stroke them together, rubbing his thumb over their heads and smearing the slickness building up there. His palm caresses Butch as they grind together and fuck, Butch feels so close – amazing how quick after coming once already, but he is, and his hands tighten on Jay as his breathing quickens.

And Jay lets up suddenly, loosening his grip, not letting go but slowing enough to pull Butch back from the edge, enough to make his skin start to prickle as the building tension suddenly ebbs, enough to make him shiver with frustration. He feels a shudder pass through Jay's body too, feels Jay catch his breath, realizes Jay's pulling _himself_ back, too. God, the man has some self-control. Patience. Something Butch has never had much of. He realizes this is the part where he's supposed to jab Jay in the ribs and call him a fucking tease, and so he does, and Jay laughs that tight laugh, that _You know you fucking love it_ snicker, and yeah, he does. Still has no fucking patience, though. He bites Jay's lip, tasting blood from the split he gave him earlier, and Jay lets out a low moan and kisses him hard and deep.

In a moment of inspiration, Butch slides one hand from where he's gripping Jay's ass down to that spot right behind his balls, pressing and massaging with his fingers. Jay groans, shudders against him, the slick friction of his hand around him tightens and Butch smirks against his mouth.

Jay's hand releases suddenly, and he shifts one knee from outside to in between Butch's legs, nudging his thigh apart, and he pulls back to bring his fingers to his mouth before working that hand under Butch.

No matter how many times he's done it it's always intense, that first shock of invasion, pain mingling with pleasure, the stretch and the fullness. Butch's eyes fall closed for a moment at the hot pressure of those fingers curling inside him, and he indulges himself a moment to let go and just enjoy it, and as he relaxes it's tempting to just give in, he's probably just a few strokes away from coming and fuck is it going to feel good, but when he opens his eyes Jay's got that smirk on his face because he's _winning_ and oh, god damn it.

Butch knows he should have a double fucking advantage right now, because not only has he already come once but he's got two hands free while Jay's stuck leaning on one elbow. He buries his left hand in Jay's hair and pulls him down close enough to bit under his jaw, slow bites, letting his teeth and then his lips and finally his tongue press in, sucking until Jay groans, until he leaves marks in his skin. He pulls his right hand up to his mouth and swipes up and down his first two fingers with his tongue. Jay could stop him but he won't, because yeah they fight dirty, but there are still rules.

It's awkward getting his hand down between them but Butch manages it, rolling Jay's balls against his palm on the way down, giving the skin a slight pinch and enjoying Jay's shiver, before sliding his fingers up and hooking them in. He rubs his thumb over the curve of Jay's ass as he pushes slowly inside, and he aches just feeling that heat and tightness clench around his fingers, and hearing the noises Jay makes right next to his ear.

They press tight and close against each other, their sweat and their moans mingling in the hot air as they push and push each other. Neither of them are worried about Amata at this point because they're being pretty fucking loud and anyone on the other side of that door who can't figure out to fuck off and leave them alone deserves whatever they get. They wouldn't stop for the goddamned Overseer if he opened this door right now.

Jay's shifted his weight a little to one side to give himself room and he's dragging his fingers out slowly only to thrust them sharply back in. It's so good Butch groans, and fuck, it's so tempting to just give in, but instead he runs his free hand down Jay's neck, down his shoulder, and pinches his nipple and twists. Their eyes meet suddenly and lock as their hands keep working each other and their hips grind together, their cocks trapped hard and throbbing between their sweaty abdomens, and Butch feels pretty much ready to explode as he slides his free hand back up to Jay's face, thumb just brushing his throat, and he gives his fingers a sharp twist in Jay's ass as he holds his stare, and smirks.

And apprently that's what it takes. Jay gives in, clenching hard around his fingers and letting out a long, low moan and Butch holds his face, forcing him to keep looking him right in the eye as he shudders and his release gushes hot over Butch's skin. Butch doesn't hold out a second longer than he has to, thrusting up against Jay and gasping with relief and pleasure as he finally lets go, oh fuck _yes_.

Jay collapses on top of him and they just lie there on the floor, breathing heavily and sticking to each other all over with sweat and spunk. Butch gives Jay a shove after a minute or two when he realizes he's not moving. "Hey, deadweight. Breathing mean anything to you?"

Jay snickers, though Butch can't see much of his face. "Butchman, I ever tell you you got pretty eyes?"

". . .Nope. Think I'd remember a comment like that. Think I'd also remember kicking your ass after a comment like that."

Jay laughs again, showing no signs of moving.

"_Pretty eyes_," Butch mutters. "The fuck's gotten into you?"

He rakes a hand idly through Jay's hair. Since apparently they're not going anywhere right away, he closes his eyes.

* * *

><p>"Hey."<p>

Butch blinks. Huh. Must've dozed off. He groans as Jay crawls off him, peeling their damp, sticky skin apart. God, they're a mess. A fucking gorgeous mess. His back's all stiff and his head aches a little as he pulls himself off the steel floor and into a sitting position. What the fuck time is it? He grabs for his Pip-Boy. 4:36 AM. Jay goes through the dresser and fishes out one of those regulation white tees, cleans himself off with it and tosses it to Butch.

The way Jay's biceps roll as he raises his arms to pull his own shirt on make it look almost like the snake is slithering. Optical illusion or something. "I gotta go take care of business, Butchman. Keep an eye on Amata while I'm gone, okay? Don't need her butting in while I'm dealing with her dad."

"Can do." Butch fishes his tin of pomade out of his jacket – getting close to empty, and see this is exactly why they needs to get out of the fucking vault, shit don't last forever – and starts fixing up his hair. Jay runs a careless hand through his. "Oh, and if you want a shower? Get one now. Clean water's a luxury outside."

* * *

><p>Butch finds Amata in the classroom. She's sitting on the floor near the door, leaning against the wall, and jumps a little when he walks in. "Hey. Where's Jay?"<p>

"Takin' care of business. Go get some sleep. I'll take over watch."

She shakes her head. "Can't sleep anyway."

Butch shrugs and settles in on the perpendicular wall. "Suit yourself."

There's a long silence between them. Butch flicks out his switchblade and starts cleaning under his nails. He could really go for a cigarette right now - not that he's a chain smoker or anything, they help him relax, is all - but the air filtration system's not doing so hot and - oh, what the fuck does he care? They're gonna be out of this hole soon enough anyway. He pats down his pockets. Fuck. His lighter must've fallen out somewhere. Whatever.

"Jay looks good," Amata says, breaking the silence.

"Yeah." Butch pauses for a moment. "He's acting kinda weird, though."

"Weird how?"

"Just, you know. Weird." He probably shouldn't have said anything, but too late now. "Getting kinda sappy on me earlier. Not like him."

Amata rolls her eyes. "Did it ever occur to you that he _missed_ you? He came back for _you_, you know. Not for the rest of us. . . Not for me."

She says that like it's some kind of revelation, and Butch fights the urge to make a Captain Obvious crack. Since they've been allies he's been good about not opening that old wound, but he has to admit, it's tempting. He's been good, he really has, and frankly Amata does deserve it. She's – she's done a lot. For him and for everyone else. So he keeps quiet.

Not that she has any such restraint. "Have you even told him how much you missed _him_? Because I know you did."

"That's kind of what the beating the crap out of him was for. Or did you forget about that part?"

Amata sighs, exasperated. "Right. Because nothing says, 'Great to see you again,' like a punch in the face."

Butch is the one to roll his eyes this time. "Yeah, well, he understood it just fine. You're the one who doesn't get it."

She shakes her head. "Butch, if I live to be 200 years old and see civilization rebuilt, I don't think I will ever 'get' the two of you."

And that's why they don't talk about this shit.

* * *

><p>When Jay decides to get shit done, he doesn't fuck around. He's been gone maybe a half hour when who should come waltzing into the clinic but -<p>

"Mr. B!" Amata jumps up. "You're free!"

"I sure am! And you'll never guess who busted me out."

Butch and Amata speak at the same time. "Jay."

Mr. Brotch looks disappointed. "Aw, and here I thought I'd get to break the news." His face turns serious. "I hope he's got a plan. Heard some of the security team talking about a raid tomorrow night."

Amata pales. "A raid?"

"Jay hacked the security terminal, and it's. . . it's not good. 'Live ammo, zero tolerance.' They want to make an example."

Butch slams his fist into the wall. "I knew it. I fucking knew the Overseer was bullshitting us about no violence!"

"I don't think the Overseer knows," Brotch interjects. "They're planning to go behind his back. Amata. . . it might be time for us to make an escape. I know we wanted to stay in the Vault but I don't want to see anyone else die. Jay made it out there. We can too."

Amata sighs wearily. "You may be right. Let's give Jay a little time, okay? He said he had an idea. . . If that fails, we'll assemble for escape first thing in the morning."

"Jay won't fail," Butch says. What he doesn't say to Amata is that Jay's plan probably involves putting a bullet in her dad's brain. He can't imagine how anything short of that's going to work, and Jay will do what he has to, one way or the other.

* * *

><p>When they hear footsteps on the stairs about a half hour later, and they come out of the clinic to see the Overseer coming over the top step, Amata stiffens and Butch's hand goes automatically to his switchblade. But Jay's behind him, and he gives a slight nod, letting them know it's all right. Butch can hardly believe the motherfucker's still alive.<p>

He walks up to his daughter. "Amata. I want you to take over as Overseer."

Now Butch has _no_ idea what the fuck's going on.

* * *

><p>It's for real, though. Who knows what in the fucking hell Jay said to him, but the Overseer – Butch still can't help thinking of him that way – has stepped down, and Amata's in charge. And <em>he's<em> free to leave.

"Freddie man," Jay says. "You coming with us?"

Freddie shakes his head. "Somebody's gotta keep this rat maze in line. Can't have all the Snakes abandon the Tunnel, can we?"

"Shit, man," Butch says, "You sure you want to stay down here?"

Freddie shrugs. "101's my home. I might come out for a little while, once things settle down, but down here's where I belong."

Butch honestly feels kind of relieved, because let's face it, three's a crowd. Especially when two of them are him and Jay.

"When you come out to visit, look us up in Megaton," Jay says. "I've got a place there. Ask around, everybody knows me."

Butch snorts. "Well aren't you the big shot on the surface. Your own place, huh? Whose cock did you have to suck to get that sweet deal?"

"A big fucking atomic bomb's, that's whose."

Butch decides to ask for that story later.

Freddie fist-bumps him and they slap each other on the back. "Tunnel Snakes for life," Butch says. "For life," Freddie echoes. "Thanks, man. Thanks for everything."

Amata hugs Jay, swallowing back tears. "Take care of yourself out there."

"Don't let any of these fuckers push you around, okay? Especially not Wally, or I'll have to come back down here and kick his ass."

"Butch. Thanks." Amata faces him awkwardly, like she's not sure if she should hug him or what, so Butch throws his arms around her. Over his shoulder, she whispers, "Look out for him, okay?"

Butch snorts again. "Have you _met_Jay? I think the fucker can take care of himself."

"You know what I mean."

"I'll pretend I do." Butch rolls his eyes, but gives Amata a reassuring squeeze. If anything it's gonna be the other way around and anyone with half a brain can see that, which of course excludes most of the Vault's population.

* * *

><p>"Yeah, good riddance!" Office Taylor snaps at them as they pass through the Atrium. "Get out!"<p>

"Not a moment too soon," Butch retorts. "Have fun living in this fucking hole the rest of your short, sad life." At his side, Jay laughs, and Taylor's face pinches up in irritation.

They pass through the vestibule with a nod from Officer Gomez. Butch stops for a moment before the big gear-shaped doorway, first time he's ever actually seen it open, the heavy door rolled aside. Then he takes a deep breath and steps over the threshold, first time in his life outside the heavy steel walls of 101.

As the Vault door screeches and groans shut behind them, Jay leads the way through the narrow rock cavern, and throws his arm around Butch's shoulders as they step out into the morning and the sunlight blinds him.


	5. Patience

_**Author's Note: **As you will no doubt notice, this takes place before the events of "Light at the End."_

* * *

><p>It's cold in the clinic wing. Well, colder than it should be. Fucking climate control. Every little thing Butch ever took for granted seems to be breaking down around him.<p>

He closes and locks the empty apartment. Thank fuck no one noticed him sneaking out of the clinic tonight. It's not that he doesn't get Amata's constant hovering and the watches and all that – considering all the shit the Overseer pulled the night Jay disappeared, it's not that paranoid of her to think they need to stay close and watch each other's backs. It's just – it's been like a week and already Butch feels like he's gonna explode. Or just shatter into a lot of small, sharp-edged pieces. It's getting insane how jumpy he is; somebody so much as looks at him wrong, he has to fight down the urge to snap at them to go fuck themselves sideways, and let's face it, that's not an urge he's accustomed to _fighting_. If he didn't need them. If all his guys weren't gone. Vanished, turned on him, and – fuck, if he thinks about Paul right now he really _is_ gonna go to pieces and some medical shit that's breakable and irreplaceable is probably gonna go to pieces along with him and he _really_ doesn't need that level of bitching-out from Amata right now.

All that and fuck, sometimes a guy just needs some fucking privacy.

He slips out of his jacket, strips his jumpsuit down to the waist, and settles in on the bare bed. Raises his arms over his head and stretches hard, then relaxes, or tries to.

Shit, and now that he's here he can barely concentrate. He's just so goddamn jittery.

He closes his eyes, hoping that'll help him focus, but all it does it makes his mind race even faster. He opens them again and stares at the gray ceiling. Gonna have to think about something.

Trouble is, most of the workable somethings come with-

Fuck. _That_. That goddamned twist and ache in his chest.

He honestly never thought about what it would be like without Jay around because he always _had_ been there and he always _would_ be there, that's just how it _is_. People are just _there_, and you live with them until one of you's dead. With people you don't like, that's a drag. With people you do. . .

Well, why the fuck _would_ he ever have thought – fuck. It's not like he took Jay for fucking _granted_, he – fucking hell, this isn't helping him calm down. Butch resists the urge to punch the steel wall because breaking a hand is not on the agenda today, and instead snatches the nearest moveable object, which happens to be a reading lamp, and hurls it as hard as he can across the room. It crashes against the far wall – anyone still awake probably heard that but fuck them, fuck everything – denting the green metal shade, but the bulb, annoyingly, doesn't break.

Butch flops over onto his stomach and punches the mattress for lack of anything better to hit. Fucking mattresses. Fucking shitty vault everything. Fucking vault. Leaning on his elbows he drops his forehead into his hands, and realizes he's shaking.

Five minutes, goddamn it. Put all this shit out of his head for five minutes and think about something he can get off to, instead of smashing more shit. Might be stuck in the clinic wing for a while. Save some shit to smash later.

He rolls over again, pushing aside the tangled sleeves of his vault suit. Takes a few deep breaths. Think of something good. Something. . .

Once he hones in on it, it doesn't take much. The thought of Jay shoving him up against a wall and muttering dirty things in his ear. Or fighting with him, wrestling on the floor, so close he can almost taste his sweat. Jay pinning him down so he can't move. Biting him. Pulling his hair. His dick wakes up at that, and everything else finally fades into the background. Jay's hands. Jay's mouth. His teeth. His smirk. His laugh.

Pushing his suit and his underwear down his hips, he imagines Jay pressed up against his back, hard himself and breathing hot against his neck. When he spits into his hand and rubs his palm over his cock, then wraps his fingers tight around himself, it's Jay's hand gripping him, his thumb running teasingly over the head, other hand holding his hips still, snickering in his ear every time he lets a groan escape.

He draws in a breath, forces himself to slow down. Jay would be slow. Jay would be teasing him, pulling him right to the edge and then backing off, because he's a fuckass like that. Butch groans. Oh fuck, he's _really_ not good at this. Being patient, that is. There's no way he can get as close as Jay gets him before pulling back, but. . . He slides his hand down to the base and squeezes slightly, forcing himself still, taking deep breaths. He wants to draw this out a little. And he wants something else.

Drawing one knee up, he reaches down around his hip with his free hand. Weirdly enough, in spite of how many times he's had Jay's fingers or his cock in his ass he's never finger-fucked himself, but fuck it, right now he just needs to feel like how Jay would make him feel. Or close enough to it. Taking a deep breath and focusing on relaxing, he slides his middle finger inside. It feels weird doing this to himself. But good too. There's the familiar sting when he impatiently pushes a second finger in, but it subsides pretty quickly. He twists his hand trying to get the right angle to curl his fingers up against his prostate (yeah, he knows what that is by now – there are some advantages to fucking a doctor's kid). When he finds the spot, and feels that pressure, his hips shudder and he arches his back. God, yes. That feels right, so fucking right and so good.

His hand tightens around his cock almost involuntarily. A heavy drop of precome runs down the head and Butch rocks his hips, thrusting into his hand, imagining it's Jay stroking him in a tight fist. Jay driving hard into him, biting and sucking bruises into his neck. Butch's hand starts to cramp as he pumps harder, thinking of exactly how loud Jay always curses and moans when he comes, curling his fingers tightly inside himself, and the sensation shoots from his ass straight through his cock, and "Fuck, _fuck_," Butch gasps out loud, coming over his hand, squeezing until the last pulses subside.

For a minute or two he just drifts, sinking bonelessly into the mattress as he catches his breath. He's suddenly aware of the chill air on his sweat-damp skin, and he shivers, wipes his hand off on his shirt, tugs his underwear back up and rolls onto his side. He pulls his jacket over him, curling up and closing his eyes. It's not the same, but for tonight it's good enough. Gonna have to be. At least now he can sleep.


	6. Out Here

The sky makes Butch dizzy.

The air makes him cough.

And everything's fucking filthy out here.

"You get used to it," Jay says with a shrug. Jay says that a lot.

* * *

><p>He guides them with confidant strides toward this place called Megaton. Butch can't keep his eyes from bugging because Jesus fuck. . .everything is so. . .he doesn't even know how to fucking <em>read<em> half of what he's seeing. They pass through a cluster of ragged, burned-out structures and it takes Butch a good minute or more to realize those are _houses_. Or were.

So that's what happens when a nuke falls on your neighborhood.

An inhuman snarl almost startles him out of his skin. Jay has his pistol drawn and pops off two clean shots before Butch even sees what he's shooting at - two nasty, hairless, toothy things, now dead at the corner of a house maybe twenty feet away. "The fuck was that?"

"Just mole rats. Ugly sonsabitches, aren't they?"

"What's that you're shooting?" Butch asks suddenly. It's some kind of revolver, he knows that much, but he's never seen a real one like it - vault security only have the .10mm pistols. And they didn't even start carrying those until the rebellion. Fucking jizzbags.

Jay shows off his piece. ".44 Magnum. Scoped, baby. Definitely my favorite handgun. We'll get you one soon enough. They're kinda rare but I keep any I can find around for parts. I'll fix you up a good one."

"I'm still kind of a blade guy," Butch says, flicking out his switchblade with a satisfying _click_. "Still carryin' the ol' toothpick."

"Sure thing, but man, wait'll you see the kind of weapons we can get our hands on out here."

Butch tries to imagine, though he doesn't get very far. Tries to call up every kind of gun he's ever seen in holos. Not like Jay would have access to a rocket launcher or anything, but he probably has some pretty good shit.

As they walk, he can't keep his eyes off that long, uneven line where the ground meet the sky. And the fucking _sky_. That thing that's supposed to be like a dome over them, but it's so much farther up than he had expected, so he feel dizzy whenever he looks up, and whenever he looks too far in the distance, and yet he can't stop staring. The ground just like_ goes on and on_ in every fucking direction and geez, how do you know which way to go? How does Jay know? His eyes follow the line in one direction until he can't look anymore without turning, and because he isn't watching his steps he stumbles over an upheaved chunk of asphalt and nearly crashes into Jay's shoulder. That's another thing, the ground is a mess, all chunks of dirt and gravel and in some places just junk like bottles and rusty cans and whatever unrecognizable garbage. Every step feels strange, rough and bumpy under his feet.

He tries to pull his attention away from how _fucking surreal_ everything is enough to pay attention as Jay gives him the rundown on what to shoot on sight. Anything comes at you at a run. Anyone in raider armor, whatever that means. "You'll get to recognize it," Jay says. "You get used to it."

* * *

><p>And then there's Megaton.<p>

It feels better than Butch would admit to be inside a wall - his _eyes_ feel tired from straining at all the space in his peripheral vision – even if the wall is a flimsy-ass piece of shit with no ceiling over it. Built over what looks like a crater, the whole mess looks liable to collapse in on itself at any moment. What Butch supposes are houses are made out of every kind of scrap – wavy tin stuff and a lot of pieces of what look like old vehicles, planes and buses and shit. Built into the sloping sides of the crater on stilts of two-by-fours and pipes and fuck-only-knows. Christ. One morning everyone's gonna wake up in a heap of walls and pieces all around that bomb in the middle.

"Is that-"

"It's not live," Jay assures him with a nod to the left, leading Butch up a steep path with what looks like chunks of metal girder sunk into the ground like they're supposed to be steps. "Was when I got here. I disarmed it. 'Swhy they gave me the house."

Right, sure. So everyone was just casually living around a live nuke this whole time.

That is either incredibly badass or unbelievably stupid and Butch is too dazed right now to decide which.

* * *

><p>The house is huge inside. Bigger than even the Overseer's quarters. Well maybe not actually that big, but it feels like it with the big open room, which is like half the Atrium, and the high ceiling. There's a kitchen-type nook at the back, and stairs going up to second level.<p>

Butch nearly jumps out of his skin for the second time this morning when "Good morning, sir!" blares out of a shiny Mr. Handy – fuck, Jay has his own Handy. Butch flinches at the machine's stupid snooty voice, and because he isn't feeling real keen on robots ever since the Andy incident.

"Morning, Wads," Jay says offhandedly, tossing his knapsack on one of the orange chairs in the center of the room. The furniture isn't half bad. Kind of old and dingy-looking but basically the same stuff they had in the vault. And that's weird too – it's actually nicer than Butch was expecting, like – well, he isn't sure what he expected but this is so damn _civilized_ it almost doesn't feel like he's outside in the goddamn wasteland. There's light from a ceiling lamp and the hum of a refrigerator which means electricity. Butch always sort of assumed there was only electricity in the vaults anymore.

Jay takes the stairs two at a time, Butch follows him about halfway up, and up on the balcony there's a goddamn Nuka-Cola machine. Jay swings the front open and fishes out two bottles, handing one to Butch. An ice-cold Nuka is another thing he didn't expect to find out in the wastes, but it feels really good going down his dusty throat. "Damn," he says after a swallow. "This is all yours?"

"All mine. All ours now," Jay says with obvious pride.

Butch's eyes wander around the house, taking it all in. A workbench sits against one wall with some tools and a few Vault-Tec lunchboxes stacked up on it. Everybody had one of those lunchboxes when they were kids, even though they didn't really need them because they all ate at the cafeteria anyway.

If you ignore the fact that the walls are made of rusty tin, it isn't all that different from a room in the Vault. He shouldn't be so surprised – Jay said it wasn't that bad outside – but he still sort of had the idea they'd be living in like, a cave or. . .something. Fuck, he doesn't know what he expected. Everything is _really_ weird out here, and then all of sudden it isn't weird _enough_, which is even weirder.

Jay's got pretty much every kind of food he can imagine and some he can't, and just flings open the fridge and tells Butch to go to town. Butch's mind boggles at the realization that he can have anything – whatever the fuck he wants, no rations, no nothing. Mac and cheese. Hell, snack cakes. Or-

"What, uh, what kinda meat is that?"

"That right there is yao guai. That's good. Don't eat the stuff on left. Mole rat. Nasty shit."

"Why do you have it then?" Butch asks, overwhelmed by the options and helping himself to the Sugar Bombs out of sheer force of habit.

"I can make jerky out of it. It's kind of a production to make but it's pretty good." Jay peels back the lid on a can of Cram. "I should probably just stop bothering but I dunno. Hate to waste food when it's right there. And I end up shooting a lotta fucking mole rats." He jams a fork into the canned meat and tears off a chunk. "Speaking of which. After we eat I'm'a show you my guns."

* * *

><p>"Holy <em>fuck<em>," Butch says as Jay swings the lockers open, one by one.

If Butch hadn't seen the way Jay ran his ink operations back in the vault he wouldn't have believed the man could be this organized. As it is, he's never in his life seen this much heat up close. Six lockers, stacked three on three, and just fucking brimming with handguns, rifles, and some impressive heavy weaponry down below.

"Is that a _flamethrower_?"

"Heavy incinerator. I don't use those much. They do work but they're a lotta weight to haul, and who needs that shit on your back when you got this beauty." Jay lifts out an assault rifle and shows it off. "This is my Xuanlong. Took it off a dead merc in Jury Street."

The pistol Butch stole from Vault Security during the rebellion suddenly feels a lot less impressive.

Jay's hand is suddenly on his shoulder. "Butch. One thing."

"Yeah?"

Jay levels his gaze at him, blue eyes as serious as he'd ever seen them. "I've killed people. I mean, you know that. You know about Stevie. But I've killed a lot more people since I came out here. Nobody who didn't have it coming, but. Yeah. You will too. You'll have to."

"I kinda figured," Butch says, even though he didn't. Well. He hadn't really thought about it.

"It's really weird the first time. You get used to it, though."

Butch nods. "I can handle it."

"I know you can, man. Just wanted to give you a heads-up."

Butch thinks about that. Since Jay left the vault, he's seen death. Hell, he saw one of his best friends die. He and Amata watched Paul go under after the radroaches swarmed him on the lower level. Paul was the best damn engineer in the vault, just a fucking brilliant guy. He went down to try and figure out what was causing all the electrical fires. Whatever he did to stop the reactor overheating probably saved all their asses. But then the roaches overwhelmed him. The bites themselves don't do all that much damage; it's their filthy mouths and the infection they bring in from outside. Still Paul would've been okay with a standard course of antibiotics. Too bad the vault's fucking doctor was gone and his assistant was dead, murdered by the Overseer's goons, one of them Paul's goddamn _father_ and one of them Wally's sick fuck of a brother who Jay'd had to shoot to get out.

Butch and Amata cracked open the locked chem cabinet with a crowbar, but neither of them had any idea what the names on the bottles meant, and while Amata paged furiously through an old copy of the _DC Journal of Internal Medicine_, trying to figure out which of the array of _–cillins_ they should give him and how much, Paul tossed deliriously with a spiking fever and Butch sat helpless by his side. It was the worst he'd felt in his whole life. Worse than finding out Jay was gone. And damn if he couldn't hear his mom in his head the whole time calling him a useless little bastard like she used to do when he was little, before he stopped giving a fuck what she thought.

"B-man. You okay?"

"Yeah. Sure. Just." Butch shakes his head. "Just thinking about Paul."

Jay's hand tenses on him and Butch feels vaguely frustrated. For reasons he can't understand. Which is even more frustrating. "I'm all right."

Jay nods somberly. "We'll pour one out for him when we get to Rivet City."

"Rivet City?"

"You'll see."

And without warning, Jay's arms wrap around him and pull him in close. So close he can't see Jay's face, but can hear the tightness in his voice when he starts to say, "I'm-"

"Don't."

Jay doesn't. But he doesn't let go for a minute either, and Butch is pretty all right with that. With the scrape of day-old scruff on both of their faces, and fuck, just the warmth. The heat of their bodies together, the thudding in Jay's chest echoing in his own. Holding tight. "Butch," Jay says, swallows, stops.

Butch presses his finger into the hair at the nape of Jay's neck. "Yeah." Works his fingers through the tangles with gentle tugs. He feels Jay relax, though he still doesn't let go. "Yeah."

"So you gonna show me your guns, or what?"

* * *

><p>"Like this. Here. Don't lock your elbows, you'll break your damn arms. Kind of bend like this. Yeah. Be ready for it, it's gonna kick you hard."<p>

Butch squeezes the trigger, trying to be ready for the kickback of the Magnum, but it throws him off balance anyway, and his shot goes way high. "Shit."

"Good, now bring it back and compensate."

He doesn't even see where his next shot goes, but Jay nods. "Better. Keep going."

Of the next four shots, one grazes the edge of the weed patch he's aiming at. Jay nods. "Not bad."

"That fucking sucked, man."

"You're just not used to how it handles. Gotta get a feel for it. You're doing fine for your first go, man, trust me. Here." Jay comes up behind him, takes the Magnum and stuffs it in his belt, and slips the Xuanlong into Butch's arms, showing him how to position the stock against his shoulder, steady it, sight it. "These babies break down quick but they're pretty essential out here. If you stay on top of the maintenance, you won't find a better automatic." His breath is right against Butch's ear, chest against his back, and Butch wonders how much of this target practice is just an excuse to get handsy with him, but then he's pretty okay with that. The warmth of Jay's body against him feels good even in the rising wasteland heat - it's been getting warmer all morning - and he spits off a few rounds, adjusts, fires again, until he's hitting the grass patch he's aiming for. Jay slides his hands over his hips, murmuring "Good," and by the feel of things back there, Butch isn't the only one getting kinda stiff in the pants right now. But Jay just nips his ear before backing off him. "C'mon. I got some work to do on some rifles before we head out to Rivet City."

* * *

><p>"The dust gets into everything," Jay remarks, as he meticulously breaks down a bunch of assault rifles, laying the parts carefully out on the carpet in front of him, pulling the best ones, cleaning and oiling them up for reassembly. "You really gotta stay on top of it. Shit breaks down quick out here." He tosses aside a warped barrel, a broken bolt, a cracked receiver, a split wooden stock. At the end he's got three good rifles instead of seven shitty ones. "Haven't got much use for these myself. The Chinese ones are way better."<p>

He packs up the rifles, and then they're heading out and away from Megaton in a direction Jay seems to know by heart. "How do you know where you're going?" Butch asks. Immediately it seems like kind of a stupid question, but damn, there's just so much space, and everything looks so much the same.

"Made this trip a few times," Jay says with a laugh. "Oh, that reminds me. Lemme see your Pip-Boy. I'm gonna transfer some maps to you. That way you'll know all the places I know. I mean we're gonna be traveling together but you might as well have 'em too. Here. See this? It'll tell you what direction you're going if you look right here."

"Well, damn." And Butch thought the only thing that map marker feature was good for was seeing Vault security coming around the corner before they caught you doing whatever thing you were doing. 'Course they could see you, too, so it wasn't all that helpful.

* * *

><p>"There are basically two ways to get to Rivet City," Jay says as they walk. "Straight south and then east across the river is the safer way. Following the river down through outer DC is faster but you're more likely to run into muties and shit." Jay grins. "More exciting, if you got the balls and the guns. Which we got. Dumbfuck wastelanders are always crawling into the ruins, thinking they'll get some sweet loot. Don't even make it across the river most of the time, before they get snatched up. Serves 'em right. I've seen people wandering around down here like basically wearing a burlap sack and carrying a fucking kitchen knife." Jay rolls his eyes. "Don't go howling for me to rescue you when you get captured, dipshit."<p>

"What, uh, what are these mutant things anyway?"

"Big uglies. Think Grognak, only green and nasty. Trust me, you'll know 'em when you see 'em."

The outer ruins are coming into view. It's like - like nothing Butch's ever seen. He's seen pictures of prewar cities, of course, but somehow he hadn't imagined how big they'd look up close. Or how broken. He knows it isn't the same thing but he can't help thinking of them like vaults yanked out of the ground and left to degrade in the sun.

They make it a good way down the crumbling road following the river before a half-human roar like something out of the old monster holos echoes through the ragged concrete. Jay drops to a crouch and gestures for Butch to follow him, and they creep off the road and alongside one of the ruined buildings to their left. Jay points silently, and following his gaze Butch sees a hulking green head move past a blasted-out window on the second story of the nearest blasted-out structure.

"Here," Jay murmurs, pushing his rifle on Butch, "take the Xuan and hang tight for a minute."

"You're not gonna leave me here, are you?" Butch blurts and immediately feels dumb for saying it, but the thought of losing sight of Jay in this maze of concrete makes his stomach drop.

"I'm'a sneak around, see if I can't get a headshot or two. You can give me cover fire if they charge."

"Rumble time. Got it." Butch checks the magazine and feels for the extra ones in his pocket. Shit, this is the real deal. He really wants a cigarette right now. Or to be punching someone like normal instead of facing down a pack of mutated monsters with a weapon he first laid hands on a couple of hours ago. Holy fuckshit. He takes a deep breath, coughs on it. Jay knows what he's doing. Jay's been out here. Jay wouldn't'a brought them this way if he didn't think they could take the heat. Right?

Besides, he's Butch DeLoria. He's a motherfucking Tunnel Snake. Same thing he's repeated to himself all these years to drown out all the bullshit from his mom, the Overseer, the fucking doctor, Wally's entire fucking family – hell, anyone he needed to tune out. He's Butch DeLoria. He's a motherfucking Tunnel Snake. He's above all that shit.

Jay's moves along the wall, and reaching the end he leans around the corner just enough to sight the mutant on the second floor of the neighboring building. A shot rings out, and another, and the mutie drops. Rifle fire pops against the wall they're crouching behind, and Jay cocks the Magnum and sticks his head out again the second the shots pause. Jesus. Butch pops up through what was once a window and fires a long burst. His fire plus another shot from Jay seems to drop the second mutant and for a minute Butch thinks they're in the clear – when a helmeted, armored hulk come barreling out from the first floor, roaring "_Time to die!_" and swinging what looks like a sledgehammer.

Three magnum shots to the head have the brute stopped in his tracks, clutching his face but not down, and Butch feels a jolt of fear in his stomach when he realizes Jay's empty. In a half-panic he claps another magazine into his rifle and unloads, kind of aiming for the neck, but mostly just spraying as the mutant raises its head and barrels toward him. He scrambles to his feet and stumbles back as the mutant swings the sledge, missing him but knocking a large chunk of concrete out of the wall. As he fumbles for another clip, Jay darts around the wall, and before Butch can reload Jay sends the mutie flying with a blow from his powerfist.

"Fuckin'. . ." Butch exhales, still jumping with adrenaline, and Jay waves to him. "Nice work, man. You fucked him up good." He laughs like it's no more than an everyday brawl. Which, to him, Butch is realizing, it probably is. Hell, that did feel pretty good. He gets to his feet and runs out to join Jay, who grabs the sledge from the mutie's dead hands and tosses it to him.

A crumbling set of stairs leads up to what's left of the second story, where Jay methodically loots the corpses of the other two mutants. "Hunting rifles. Pretty standard for the big uglies. These, the assault rifles, and the sledgehammers. Some of 'em just run around swinging boards with nails sticking out of em'. Nasty if they get you but pretty easy to avoid."

Butch opens his mouth to say something but is cut off by a _splat_ against the outer wall of the building. Another _splat_ catches the edge of the window, spewing some kinda biley green-brown shit all over the concrete, and the Geiger on Butch's Pip-Boy sputters. "Centaur," Jay mutters, in the middle of breaking down the two rifles and reassembling them into one. "You want to get him?"

Butch raises his rifle and sidles up to the window, getting a quick look at what he's dealing with before dodging another biley splatter. His glance registers a grotesque fleshy thing with _tentacles_ protruding from a head just human enough to be really disturbing, and more legs than any land animal has any right to have. "Mother_fucker_," Butch hisses. "Hope you weren't thinkin' of bein' a model, pal." He unloads the clip into the thing, and there is a certain satisfaction in seeing the mutated torso explode in a spray of gore and slump over motionless on the pavement. Yeah, okay, he gets why Jay gets a chubby for guns now. No reason he can't stab _and_ shoot, right?

"Y'do work," Jay says from behind him, sliding bullets into his revolver, and Butch feels a thrill of pride as he reloads the Xuan.

* * *

><p>Butch never thought of himself as some prissy-clean kind of guy, but by the time they reach Rivet City he feels genuinely gross, sweaty and grimy on a level he's never experienced.<p>

But he pretty much forgets all of that when he sees the city, because it's a boat.

Somehow Jay forgot to mention that part.

Butch was just getting used to the idea of _city_ as the thing all this wrecked concrete and steel used to be, and now Rivet City is a fucking boat. He decides to give up on trying to make sense of things, and just follows Jay up the rusty walkway and across the bridge. The guard, whose dumbass helmet reminds him a little too much of Vault Security, gives Jay a curt nod as they pass, and Jay swings open the heavy steel door.

Inside is-

Well, shit. It's practically a _vault._ A huge open space and way bigger than the Atrium. But steel walls and floors and doors and ceilings and. . . well, steel everything. Solid. No chinks of that weird light, no dusty drafts. For the first time since walking out of 101 he actually feels like he's _inside_. Still smells like ass, but hey. Can't have everything.

Jay nudges him back to reality. "I know, right? Feels like home." He laughs easily and takes the stairs two at a time down to the market floor, where rows of little makeshift booths are set up. For – right. Trading stuff. Shit. There was trading in the vault, of course, under the table and stuff, but – not all _official_ like this. 'Course this is way more than cigarettes and comics and sweets and dirty magazines and Crazy Bea's palm readings. This is like – _everything._ Clothes. Food. Chems. And guns – that's where Jay's headed. To the first booth on the left, with two older guys who look like pretty tough shit even by Butch's standards. The one with the handlebar moustache gives Jay a familiar nod. "How's it goin', kid?"

"Got a stack of the usual," Jay replies, unloading his cargo on the table.

Butch is eyeing the array of weapons for sale, and notices the shaggy-haired, sharp-eyed guy eyeing him. "If you want any of this shit, just say so. Otherwise, keep your fingers the hell away from the triggers. I don't want no accidents."

"Hey Flak, Shrap," Jay interjects before Butch can spit out a retort. "This here's Butch DeLoria. Founder of the Tunnel Snakes and my number one man."

Flak lets out a hearty laugh. "Another Tunnel Snake, eh? So there _are_ more than one o' you."

"Damn right," says Jay, and Butch likes what he hears in that voice. Pride. Like how he talks about his ink, when he talks about it. Makes Butch stand a little taller, and he hopes the dust hasn't completely dulled the shine out of his hair.

Shit, it occurs to him just now that Jay probably can't do his ink anymore. He hasn't got any of his supplies, and fuck if anyone could keep anything sterile out here. That. . . actually sucks. Really hard.

Jay doesn't look real unhappy right now, though. In fact, right now – haggling over weapons in a friendly kind of way with Flak and Shrapnel, whose names Butch now realizes are hung over the shop – he seems _really_ happy. Not that he hasn't seen Jay happy, but there's something different about him out here – like he moves easier. Well, anyone would move easier outside the fucking Vault, but – it's something in his eyes, maybe. In his voice. Something that tells Butch it's gotta be better out here. Fuck everything – supermutants, dirt and rads and nasty scavenged food – it's gotta be better. Once you get used to it, like Jay keeps saying Fuck it. What's a little dust. What's putting a little extra time into his hair. That is once he gets his hands on some more Dixie-

Jay's finishing up his sales, packing up a sizeable heap of ammo in exchange. "This all the .44 you got, Shrap?"

"'Fraid so, kid. Ain't easy to get, but I always set some aside for you."

"Appreciate it." Jay sweeps a stack of assault rifle magazines into his knapsack – 5.56, Butch remembers – and Flak counts out a pile of bottlecaps, which Jay also pockets.

Wait, what the –

Butch's resolution to stop keeping track of the what-the-fucks is really being tested right now.

As they're leaving, he sees the sharp-eyed one still watching him.

"What's that guy's problem, anyway?" Butch asks once they're in the stairwell.

"Who, Shrapnel?"

"Yeah, him. Kept lookin' at me."

"That's just Shrap. Looks at everyone like that."

No, Butch thinks, he doesn't. But he lets it drop in favor of a more pressing question. He doesn't want to sound like an idiot but he's gotta fucking ask. "What's, uh, what's with the bottlecaps?"

Jay starts laughing. "Right, you don't know about that. Money, Butchman. Like they had pre-war."

"Right, 'cause I fucking paid attention in History."

Jay snickers. "Bet you never thought you'd need to remember that, huh?"

"Well aren't you a smug-ass teacher's pet," Butch mutters. He was, too. Not that Jay paid attention or did his homework any more often than he did – less, probably – but Brotch _did_ favor him, for reasons Butch never figured out. "So you can like, trade those for stuff?"

"You bet your ass." Jay shakes his knapsack to hear it clink, and then smacks Butch on the ass. "Now we go spend 'em."

* * *

><p>In the lowest, grimiest, smokiest part of the ship, there's a bar called the Muddy Rudder, tended by a sallow woman called Belle Bonny and half-filled with an equally sallow scatter of half-drunk wastelanders. Butch immediately decides it's his favorite place on this tub.<p>

A girl seated at the bar turns a mangy smile on Butch. "Hey handsome. You look new around here. Gonna buy me a drink or what?"

Butch snorts. "You gonna buy _me_ one?"

The girl looks momentarily confused, then sneers. "Fine, screw you!"

Jay elbows him in the ribs and laughs. "Bitches already tryin'a get in your pants, Butchman. Belle, triple my usual." The sullen barmaid mutters something under her breath as she plunks down three bottles of whiskey, and Butch remembers what Jay said about pouring one out for Paul.

Jay clinks a handful of his caps down, nods to Butch and they collect their whiskeys and head up the stairs to the balcony area of the Rudder, where a narrow door leads to the outer deck. The ragged cityscape spreads before them, and a stale odor hits Butch in the face.

Jay uncaps the third bottle. "You want to say something?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do." Seems right to say something for Paul. Memorial services in the Vault were always pretty basic. The Overseer would say some bullshit about "born in the Vault, die in the Vault," and a few people would get up and say stuff about the dead person, and then the Vault chaplain would read that "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust" bit, which never made a whole lot of sense to Butch but he assumed it had something to do with the whole cremation thing.

After the fires and the infestation though, the memorials were pretty rushed and impersonal and Paul deserved better than that. Now's a chance to do right by him. Butch swallows. "Paul was a true Tunnel Snake. Birth to earth, womb to tomb. A loyal brother. A good friend. He was a great guy who went too soon." Butch's throat constricts a little. "Way too soon."

He can't think of anything else to say so he just nods to Jay, who raises the bottle skyward for a moment and then says simply, "Paul, bro, this one's for you." He pours the whiskey out slow, over the railing and into the murky river, and stares after it for a moment, his eyes dark and unreadable.

Butch takes a step closer to him and they lean on the railing, drinking their own whiskeys in silence until Butch pulls out a cigarette. "Shit, Jay, I dropped my lighter somewhere in the Vault. You got a light?"

A slight smile breaks on Jay's face again as he fishes in his pocket. "Looks like I do."

"Hey. That's _mine._"

Jay snickers. "Yeah. You lost it while you were greasin' up your damn hair."

Butch swipes the lighter out of his hand. "I don't hear you complaining while you're grabbing it."

"Fuck yeah I'm complaining. Can't get a good grip." Jay grins and makes to grab for Butch's hair, and Butch knocks his hand away. "Save that for later. I only got so much pomade."

"Oh, you should talk to Seagrave. I get a discount from him and I bet he could hook you up. He can get just about anything. Or Wolfgang. I got people, man."

Butch stares down into the dull, green-tinged river for a moment, and a putrescent stench wafts up to meet him. Like that time the water filtration system backed up in the Vault. "How do people _breathe_ out here?" he grumbles, lighting up.

Jay laughs. "You talking about the air or the river stink?"

"_Everything_. Man, it stinks."

"Yeah. You get used to it."

Tobacco never tasted so good. "You want a smoke?"

"Just a drag." But instead of taking his cigarette Jay pulls Butch's face to his and kisses him long and deep, swirling his tongue to taste the smoke mingling in their mouths. As they pull back Jay bites his bottom lip, winks and says, "Now gimme a cigarette."

* * *

><p>That thing – the <em>sky<em> – is getting darker as they leave Rivet City. At first Butch can't figure out what's wrong with the light, why it's dimmer and bluer than when they went in. The fading light makes him really uneasy. In the Vault, lights going out in the corridors would mean something was wrong – power fluctuations or some kind of emergency – or worse, the reactor going down, which meant they were really fucked. He _knows_ that isn't what it means out here but that doesn't change how it makes him _feel_.

It does this outside. It's just the sun going down. Going down where? The pictures of pre-war landscapes featured blue skies and sometimes a white-hot ball near the horizon. Here, all Butch can see is a full and quickly darkening gray mass above, and where the light's _going_ he can't tell.

Jay nods to their left almost as if he knows what Butch's thinking, and he sees, now, an orange tint to the clouds. Is that where the sun _goes down?_ "Shit, that's weird."

"What?"

"That _thing_ up there. The sky. How does that not fuck with you?"

Jay shrugs. "Kind of does. I dunno. Not so much now. You get-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You _get used to it_."

Jay shoots him a look but says nothing more. Shit. Hadn't meant to sound like that. Like he couldn't _handle_ it. Shit, he's a Tunnel Snake. Get it the fuck together. Quit gaping around like some kinda just-crawled-out-the-vault nosebleed. Shit. He doesn't want to look like that. Jay doesn't look like that. Fuck, the way people look at him – the way they talk to him – that's how people are s'posed to look at Butch DeLoria. Shit, it's like he's starting again from nothing out here.

He remembers how Jay introduced him in the market. _"This here's Butch DeLoria, founder of the Tunnel Snakes and my number one man."_

Well, maybe not quite nothing.

Butch starts walking a little taller.

* * *

><p>It's almost completely dark by the time they get back to Megaton, the rough ground in front of them lit with the dim greenish glow from their Pip-Boys. Butch feels irritable, maybe from the dark, maybe from the gritty wind grazing his face, maybe from how his feet are fucking killing him. Maybe everything. As they near the scrap town's outer wall, he looks up and notices where a cold white circle of light has burned fuzzily through the haze.<p>

Butch shivers. "Let's get inside."

* * *

><p>The electric lights of the windowless house ease Butch's frayed nerves a whole lot, and the relief at seeing familiar things, even less than a day familiar, is like a real physical warmth flooding through him. Jay drops his knapsack on the floor beside one of the orange chairs and immediately drops into the chair and starts untying his boots. For the first time Butch realizes he isn't wearing the same Vault-issue black boots. They're similar, but with chunkier soles and thick, rough laces and the texture of the leather is off, like they've been coated with something. Jay catches him looking. "Got these from Crow, one of the caravan guys. Those Vault boots ain't made for the terrain out here. Mine were fallin' to shit in like a week or two. We'll get you some next time we run into him." Jay laughs. "Amazing how much less your feet hurt when you got good shoes."<p>

"Sure, now you tell me," Butch grumbles.

Jay shrugs. "Couldn't'a done it today. Caravans travel a circuit. Crow wasn't anywhere we were."

It's perfect reasonable answer but Butch feels annoyed anyway. He doesn't know what do about it, though, so he just falls into the other chair and starts pulling his own boots off.

* * *

><p>Ordinarily Butch would be rebelling against whatever bedtime whatever fucknut in charge had set for him, but he's out here with no curfew and no Mom and no Overseer, and since the rebellion he hasn't had anything like a normal sleep schedule anyway, and fuck is he tired. Never walked so much in his life. And Jay probably hasn't had a real sleep in a while either, what with him showing up in the Vault in the middle of the night and all. So it's really a relief to go upstairs and get undressed. Butch hangs his jacket on the back of the desk chair, and Jay lays his right over it. They strip out of their vault suits without saying much, until Butch says, "Surprised you're still wearing that thing."<p>

Jay shrugs. "I got other stuff, but. . .I like to represent, you know? Can't forget where we come from. Even if it sucked."

"I guess."

"Hey, it is where the Snakes started, right?"

"True." Butch plunks himself down, relieved to be off his feet, and springs squeak under him. Jay lets out a wry laugh. "Sorry about the shitty bed."

The "bed" is a rusty metal cot thing, a grungy mattress with spring marks on it, a dirty flat-looking pillow, and a rough gray blanket. The "bed" is also clearly not made for two people, but whatever. Butch flops flat on his back and stretches his arms over his head, just thrilled to get off his feet. "It does the job, man."

Jay laughs. "Shove over."

Butch rolls onto his side, facing the wall, and Jay tucks in close behind him. Butch relaxes against him with a realization of how new this is. They've never even fucked in a bed, let alone slept together in one. Jay's arm wraps comfortably around him. This is. . .different. And kind of nice. He could get used to this.

He's not expecting all the feelings that well up all of a sudden. Such a jumble he can't really make sense of them right now. First night out of the vault. All kinds of noises he's not used to and none of the ones he is. Well, except for the hum of a soda machine, and the quiet whir of a Mr. Handy. That's familiar. Okay, it isn't that weird. But Jay's breath on the back of his neck, all relaxed and quiet, the two of them just. . . And nothing but this thin rusty metal between them and outside. They practically _are_ outside right now. What's gonna stop things from – right. There's another wall around the town. But not much of one. And the smells, everything smells so weird. And – fuck, his mind just keeps racing. Can't slow it down.

How long has it been since they lay down? Not long probably. Jay's breathing sounds like he's still awake. And he gives Butch a slight squeeze like he's – like he's trying to be comforting, and well, it works. He reminds himself that Jay's survived out here for more than a month and if he could do that they can definitely survive out here together.

It hits him then that there's not one goddamn human being outside the vault that he knows except Jay, not one. And that makes him shiver and makes him want to. . .fuck, he doesn't even know, it just fills him with this _weird_ _feeling_ and without even thinking about it he shifts backward a little and feels Jay's chest against his back and he could swear Jay's arm around him tightens a little more.

"Y'okay?"

"What?"

"You feel like you're nervous is all."

"I _feel_ like I'm- the fuck does that even mean?"

Jay's knees nudge against the back of his thighs as he moves closer. "Doesn't mean anything. Forget it."

Butch takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

During the rebellion, trying to sleep was the worst. Lying on that floor surrounded by other vault kids, face to the wall, that twisting, crushing loneliness would hit him hard. None of them fucking knew what it was like. They'd lost people, yeah, but none of them were lying there wondering _where someone was_ and if they were even fucking _alive_.

Thinking about that, he can guess why Jay's arms pull him in closer now, here in this bed where come to think of it Jay's probably jacked off thinking about him while he was gone, and Butch drifts off thinking of that for a few minutes. Jay's arm wraps further around him, palm spread flat against his chest.

"You're not asleep, are you?"

"Nah." Jay's hand slides lower over his stomach. "Neither are you."

"Nah." Butch shifts a little. "Man, this is all really weird."

"I know."

"I don't mean it's bad. Just really different."

"I know."

"I dig that place in Rivet City."

"Thought you would." Jay squeezes his ass. "Love to bend you over that bar."

"Fuck me smellin' like cheap whiskey?"

"And cigarettes."

"And river water."

Jay bites the back of his neck right at his hairline, sending a shiver down his spine. "No more sneakin' off to smoke in the boys' room."

Butch shifts, feeling Jay's dick twitch against his ass. "'S'almost not the same if you can do it anywhere."

"Yeah well. I got a consolation prize for you. Something else we can do whenever the fuck we want."

"So you're saying we're never gonna leave your house."

There's a grin in Jay's voice when he responds. "Heh. Miss it that much?"

"Oh, like you didn't." Butch grinds back against Jay who's definitely hard now. "Tell me you haven't been thinking about my ass. Been starin' at it all day."

Jay gives him a harder squeeze. "I'm always thinking about your ass."

"Thinking about bending me over everything you see."

"Some things." Jay pushes forward against him and slides his hand over Butch's hip. "Miss me doing that to you? Miss my cock? Bet you want me in you right now."

"Bet you want to be in me. Been thinking about that all day, haven't you." Jay tightens his hand on Butch's hip and Butch snickers. "Thought so. You didn't have to wait, you know. Coulda asked."

Lips and teeth on the nape of his neck again, and then in the curve of his shoulder. "So could you."

"I'm not the one who wants to bend you over everything. Not that that sounds bad, but. . ."

Jay laughs. "But you really want my cock, don't you." He rubs circles in Butch's hip with his thumb. "Why don't you ask me for it."

Butch snorts. "Since when do you need me to ask?"

"Just like hearing it."

Butch rolls over, swings a leg over Jay and straddles him, palming over his erection and the damp spot on his shorts. Holds Jay's arms down, feels Jay test his grip. He leans over him and murmurs in his ear. "So tell me what you thought about. While you were out here."

"Thought about you every goddamn day," Jay says in a frank but husky tone, eyes locked on Butch. On his back with his wavy hair fallen out of his face, his expression is startlingly open. Butch is still for a moment, turning those words over in his head. Because it was the same for him. Every goddamn day.

Before Jay wrestles free of his hold and flips him over, he has the presence of mind to hook his fingers into the waistband of Jay's underwear, dragging it down enough to let his dick spring out. Jay has it off in a minute and his hands all over Butch, pulling his t-shirt off and his shorts and Butch is yanking Jay's shirt over his head and then it's just _skin_, all their skin against each other, Jay's gorgeous skin decorated with scars and callouses and all his tattoos, both of them already damp with sweat. And this is different too, being completely naked together. Clandestine fucks in the blind spots of Vault security cameras weren't exactly conducive to getting all their clothes off first. It's not like the Overseer didn't know they were fucking – hell, everyone knew that. He let a lotta shit slide for the Snakes back when they were doing favors for him, but that _Procreation_ bullshit wasn't going away and they both knew sooner or later the hammer was gonna come down.

And goddamn it feels good being free of all that. Butch pulls Jay down on top of him just to feel skin against skin, and Jay bites at his throat and his mouth before sitting back up and pushing him over and onto his knees. He feels Jay against his back, his mouth biting along his neck and down his spine, the little twinges of pain each time his teeth catch bone. Jay presses his mouth into the small of his back, then murmurs, "Hang on," and moves away for a moment, dragging the rolling desk chair close enough to dig into the inner pocket of his jacket.

"Did you seriously – "

"Why the fuck wouldn't I? That shit isn't easy to get out here."

Leave it to Jay to steal as much medical-grade lube as he could carry from the Vault clinic. Stuff sure beats the hell out of spit, though. Jay used to swipe tubes of it all the time, and if his dad noticed – and he must have noticed – he never said a thing, which Butch found hilarious.

Jay's at his back again, sliding his fingers along the cleft of his ass. "So. You gonna say it for me or what?" He teases Butch's asshole with a slippery fingertip and Butch squirms. He's achingly hard and he's heard what he wants to hear so fuck it. "Fuck me. I want your cock."

With a satisfied laugh, Jay starts to push a finger in, and Butch reaches back to grab his wrist. "I said I want your _cock_."

One of those things he likes about Jay is how he doesn't second-guess him. Just lets out a low, throaty laugh, slicks up his dick, and wraps his hands around Butch's hips, and feeling the head of Jay's cock against his ass – fuck, yes, he's so ready for this, it's been way too fucking long – Butch groans impatiently, "Come on. I know how much you want this." The heavy pulsing of Jay's cock against him would tell him even if he didn't already know. "Don't hold back on me, a'right?"

"I never do, Butchman." And Jay presses in, pulling him onto his cock so, so slowly, his breathing growing ragged as he leans over him, gasping into the back of his neck about how tight he is, and Butch closes his eyes, hissing at the harsh pleasure, the stretch and the ache, breathing deep and relaxing his body to let him in deeper. He feels Jay throb inside him, feels the vibration against his spine of Jay's moan, Jay murmuring his name as his hands travel up and down his torso, and he runs his own hands over Jays hips and thighs close behind his own as he sinks all the way in. Thick. Hard. Tight. Hot. Fingers don't ever really feel like this. Nothing feels like this. Fleetingly Butch remembers the weirdness of doing this the first time, the weirdness even of _wanting_ it, and of now, a couple years later, how - just, familiar and good, and how much he doesn't give a fuck about anything except _this_ and how good it feels.

Jay gives him a minute to adjust before drawing back for a long, deep thrust. Butch pushes back to meet him and Jay keens against his neck, folds his arms tighter and wraps one hand tight around the base of Butch's cock. He flattens himself against his back until Butch can feel his heartbeat against his spine, and as he gets into a rhythm, his strokes grow deeper, faster, so fucking good. Butch rocks with Jay's motions, leaning into his powerful thrusts, everything narrowing to this and the hands on him and the tension in his body.

Jay's hand moves on his cock, just adjusting his grip, but that little bit of friction makes Butch groan and try to thrust into that hand. Jay squeezes him around the base, runs two fingers up the underside and rubs circles right against that sensitive spot until Butch's knees go weak.

Jay's breath grows heavier and finally frantic, his pace speeding up, his hand sliding on Butch's cock, building into long, fast tugs all the way from base to tip, and Butch moans hoarsely, knowing he can't hold back and he doesn't want to and he can't and, "_Fuck, yes yes yes,"_ it just tears through him faster than he can think, Jay's hand pumping him through it, so hard, so good, hips slamming against his ass, "Don't stop, don't don't don't _fuck-" _and Jay slowing just a little and then one, two three deep thrusts and "Butch, oh _fuck_," Jay growls into his shoulder as his grip tightens to painful then relaxes, shaky and exhausted.

They slump in a tangle of limbs, panting, and Butch nearly dumps Jay off the bed as he attempts to roll over. He reaches his arms up, pushing against the wall with his palms as he stretches languidly, feeling unbelievably relaxed and sated, kind of sleepy and a little bit sore and. . .

Fuck, just so good. Been a long time since he felt this good.

He settles on his side and Jay stretches out on his back, but with his head turned toward Butch, watching him with hazy, half-lidded eyes. Softer than usual. Sleepy. Butch rests a hand on Jay's chest. Just wants to touch him. Look at him stretched out like this, black and green ink standing out boldly even in the dim light again his pale skin, his cock all soft now and lying slightly to one side like it does. Smell the mingled sweat and dust and cigarette smoke in his tangled blond hair. Feel his chest rising and falling, slowing as his breathing calms down. And Butch is struck again by the newness of all this, but he's too relaxed now to be bothered by any of the faint unfamiliar sounds, too close to Jay and immersed in his smell to be irritated by the strange wasteland air, too happy and too close to falling asleep.


	7. Whistlin' Dixie

_**A/N: **I feel like I should mention up front that there is not smut in this piece. Just wasn't any place it would've worked. Hope it's still an enjoyable read for those of you following the series._

* * *

><p>"You're shittin' me, right?"<p>

"Sure?"

"I'm not hacking through your hair with rusty kitchen shears, genius. Don't you have any decent scissors?"

"By your standards? Probably not."

"Quit laughing, asshole. It's your hair."

"Like I give a shit about my hair."

"You wouldn't ink someone with a rusty fucking needle-"

"Right, because _that's_ the same."

"Oh, go sit on a dick. You've got more money than god. Buy me some damn scissors."

* * *

><p>"Matter of fact," says Seagrave Holmes, who looks more than a little stupid wearing a motorcycle helmet in the middle of the marketplace, "I think something like that just. . ." He rifles through a metal box. "Yeah, here we go. How about these?"<p>

"That's more like it." Butch takes the still-shiny scissors, opens them and runs his fingertip along the blades. Sharp. Smooth hinge and not a trace of rust. Not bad. "Got any more?"

"Half dozen or so."

Butch closes the scissors. "An extra pair or two wouldn't hurt. . ."

"Hell, we'll take 'em all." Jay slings off his knapsack.

"You got anything in the way of pomade?" Butch asks. "You know, hair dressing? Dixie? Murray's? Ring any bells?"

Seagrave scratches his mustache. "Pre-war hair products, huh? Don't think I have any in stock. Don't see much of that stuff come through. You could try Wolfgang, but. . ."

"But if he had anything like that, you'd'a seen it." Jay nods. "Think you might be able to get some?"

"Next to Wolfgang, kid, you _are_ my best supplier. Anyone can get something like that, it's probably you." Seagrave strokes his mustache again, looking thoughtful. "Supposed to be an old grocery store in Jury Street that hasn't been picked clean yet. 'Course, they also say it's booby-trapped, but that sort of thing doesn't seem to stop you."

"Already cleaned that place out."

"You did! Were there traps?"

"Sort of. Not really. Long story. Might be worth stopping in to see if I missed anything." Jay nods again. "Anywhere else, you think?"

"Well, if you're feeling _really_ ambitious, you could try vault-diving. I hear there are abandoned vaults out there still loaded with pre-war goods. Couldn't tell you where to look for them, though."

"Yeah. Huh. Vaults." Jay pauses for a moment. "Yeah. I don't know where the rest are, but. . . I know where we can find out."

* * *

><p>"I don't want to waste a Stealth Boy on these fuckers," Jay says as they walk up the road along the river, "but try not to attract attention. Don't make eye contact, don't talk to anyone. Any of those stuck-up tin soldiers start yakkin' at us, we'll never lose em."<p>

"Uh. 'Kay."

"There's a terminal in there somewhere with a list of all the vaults in the area and their locations. Just gotta download it and get out."

"Sounds easy enough." Butch gazes up the road, which is quickly growing familiar, Rivet City being Jay's favorite place to unload his salvage and then throw some of those caps into whiskeys at the Muddy - which suits Butch just fine. "Are all the vaults like 101?"

"No idea. Never seen another one 'cept for 112, and that one was. . . weird. Everyone was trapped in this computer simulation. I don't think the others are like that."

A thought strikes Butch. "What if there are still people in them. . . like in ours?"

"Guess there could be. I dunno." Jay looks ahead. "There's the Citadel."

They've passed the entrance before, kind of tucked back into the concrete jungle that is the DC ruins. A guy in some kind of heavy armor nods curtly to Jay, and presses a button to raise the metal door.

"That guy didn't seem too chatty," Butch says as they pass through a sort of open-ceilinged corridor of steel girder and scattered junk.

"Yeah, 'cause he doesn't like me. The ones't think they like me are the obnoxious ones."

They come into an open courtyard quartered by walkways into several shooting ranges and combat practice areas, where more people in that goofy tincan armor are firing off weapons and punching dummies.

"I think," Jay mutters, taking the walk straight through the center, "it's in the lab section? Whatever, we'll find it. Come on."

"Hail, son of James!" intones a balding old man in a blue robe-thing with a ridiculous beard, stepping into their path before they're even down the stairs in the laboratory section. _Son of James._ Shit. Jay's broken noses for less.

Something about his voice unsettles Butch, and it takes him a minute to figure out why. It's not the same, really, but something about it reminds him of how Jay's dad used to talk. They were probably friends. Would figure.

"Fuckshit," Jay mutters under his breath. "Hey. Just gettin' some vault info. Can't stick around."

The old guy nods. "Do you mean to introduce me to your friend?" Christ, that _voice_. "Any friend of yours is certainly welcome in the Citadel, but-"

"Lyons, Butch, he's from my vault, we gotta go." Jay bolts and Butch follows, and the old guy calls after them, "Anything else you need for the GECK – speak to Scribe Rothchild – and Steel be with you -"

Jay mutters what sounds like a string of curses under his breath. There's a tension in his walk Butch hasn't seen since they left the Vault.

"What's a geck?"

"Tell you later."

* * *

><p>"Where is that fucking terminal?" Jay growls as they turn down back from yet another dead-end hallway. "Damn it, why is everything a maze? Maybe it's in the A-ring. . ."<p>

Butch has pretty much given up keeping track of the turns and the stairs, when Jay ducks into a narrow room. One of those people in the red robes is seated in front of an oversized monitor at their right, and nods at them with a disinterested "Hey" as they enter. Jay ignores her, heading straight for a normal-sized terminal against the back wall.

"Here we go." There's no log-in, and the list Jay's after loads with a single keystroke.

"Can't tell a whole lot from what's here. It's not exactly like they're gonna list 'Five thousand tins of Dixie Peach Hair Dressing' under Equipment."

"You don't know that."

"I'm looking at it right now, dipshit, so yeah, I do know that."

"Also, Dixie comes in a jar, Einstein."

"Well thank fuck you set me straight on _that_." Jay taps a key. "76 looks the most. . .well, normal. . .but the data's corrupted and it won't give me a location so I guess that's out. 101's us. . .108's reactor was apparently designed to fail so I bet it's a shitpile by now. . ."

He says that so casually that it takes Butch a minute to process the implications of it.

"What the fuck do you mean, _designed to fail?"_

"Exactly what it sounds like." Jay keys down the list.

"No, fucking _explain that."_

"Vault-Tec designed their reactor to fail. I told you some of these vaults had weird shit going on."

"No, you told me _one of them_ had weird shit going on. You said the others weren't like that."

"Not the same, no. I didn't say-"

"Look, I don't give a shit what you said before. You're telling me now they designed reactors to go bust so - what? Everyone would _die?_ What's the fucking point of that?"

The red-robed chick is looking at them now.

"Hey," Butch snaps. "You got a problem?"

Her eyes dart back to her screen.

Jay's hand lands on his arm. "Butch. Talk about it later. Okay?"

"Fine. Whatever."

"Lemme just download this shit and we'll get out of here."

* * *

><p>Like anything's ever that simple.<p>

They stumble their way back through the maze of hallways and wind up back in the laboratory, where of course they get stopped again.

"Hail to you!" The fuck is it with these people and their _Hails_? Why can't they say _Hey_ like normal people? It's a woman this time, silver-black hair in a flat-top that could be cool if she wasn't ruining the effect with a giant clunky metal armor suit. "By the traction of hospitality and on the word of Elder Lyons, I welcome you to the Citadel. I am Star Paladin Cross, Keeper of the ARM, and Seneschal to Elder Lyons." Not to mention rambling on like a snooty fuck. Keeper of the _arm_? And what the fuck's a _Seneschal_? "And, I am honored to say, I was acquainted with your father. If there is anything I can do to assist you, please let me know."

"Oh, you knew my dad," Jay says, deadpan. "What are the odds. Look, we-"

"I did!" Cross barrels on. "And you as well! Long ago, I helped guard the water purifier against the supermutant horde. When your father left, I escorted the two of you to Megaton. He was. . . a noble man." Amazing how she manages to keep fellating the Doc with praise even while talking about how he abandoned them. Jay's jaw locks up. She keeps going, this is going to wind up either hilarious or terrible. "I was saddened to hear of his passing. But from what I've heard, he died with honor. He died for _you_." Oh _shit_. "I only pray my own death has such meaning."

Jay expression turns venomous. "My father died as he lived," he spits with barely-controlled anger. "A selfish asshole."

The Paladin's reverent look drops away, and her eyes narrow. "Then you did not know the man," she says haughtily. "I knew your father. I knew his goodness. And I will not have you sully the memory of a noble man." She looks down her nose at him, starts to turn away. "Go now. I have nothing more to say to you."

"Good," Jay snaps back. "I didn't fucking ask you, and I don't need your damn approval. I lived with my father for nineteen years. _Don't fucking tell me_ I don't know him. Fuck you. _Fuck. You_."

Butch feels like slapping him five. 'Bout time he stopped holding back. Who do these pricks think they _are_? That is some fucked-up shit, telling Jay he doesn't know his own dad. Hell, _Butch_ probably knew the vault doc better than they did.

Jay fumes all the way out. He looks more furious than when he was talking about his dad down in the Vault, and even knowing that anger isn't directed at him, there's something scary about it. Butch follows him in silence. As they pass through the outer doorway, Jay suddenly whirls and slams his powerfist into one of the steel supports with a deafening clash.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" the doorguard snaps.

Jay whirls, fist raised. "Fucking talk to me again and _steel be with_ your face. Got it?"

He doesn't even laugh. Normally Jay would pop off a line like that, snicker, and saunter off. This time none of the tension leaves him as he stalks away, still looking like he's going to kill something.

Butch gives him a good ten minutes of walking in silence before, "Hey, uh. . .what do you say we go get a drink?"

"Could go for a drink," Jay says grimly. "Or ten."

* * *

><p>Just to be safe, Butch lets Jay get well into his second whiskey before saying, "So. . .you want to talk about it?"<p>

"Not really."

"'Kay." Butch dives into his own glass.

Jay's hand tightens into a fist. "I hate those fuckers. I hate every one of those pretentious, self-righteous, stuck-up-their-own-ass _fucks._ Talkin' to me about my _father._ I can't. . . fucking. . ." Butch feels something twist inside him when he sees that look on Jay's face. That rage. That. . .giving a shit. And it's a little scary, knowing that's _in_ there. Maybe scary isn't the right word. It's just. . . something he must keep buried most of the time. That he doesn't show even to Butch.

He feels like there's a good chance of Jay breaking his face if he touches him right now. And he wraps his arm around Jay's shoulders anyway because it's the only thing he can think to do. And Jay doesn't relax, but he doesn't break Butch's face either, so he keeps his arm there.

"We didn't have to go-"

"Nah. I wanted to." Jay seems to deflate a little. "I want us to go vault-diving, I just. . . I don't fucking know."

"Jay," Butch says finally, "what actually happened to your old man?"

"I didn't tell you the whole story, did I?" Jay nods to the barmaid. "Belle, fill me up, would ya?" Bonny splashes his glass full again and Jay throws back a swallow. And tells him.

Butch has a hard time picturing it all, especially as the whiskey blurs his focus, but he can imagine enough of it. Jay waving to his father through the windowed bulkhead, gesturing behind the Colonel's back, _Open it, I'll take him out._ The doc ignoring him. Overloading the reactor. Jay screaming at his dad, pounding on the bulkhead as his father collapses in front of the console.

"I should probably feel bad that that last thing I said to my dad was cursing him out," Jay mutters into his glass – he's been slumping gradually further and further over the bar on one elbow as he talks – "but I don't. I just hate him." He draws a deep breath and lets it out. "I really hate him."

He's quiet for a minute, and sips at his whiskey.

"Whole time we're on the run. . .that bitch is yelling at me like it's somehow my fault we're crawling through ghoul-infested sewers with an army on our asses. Lost one of her guys on the way 'cause turns out he's got a heart condition and I didn't have enough stims, 'cause, you know, everything is my fucking problem." Jay shoves his empty glass angrily toward the back of the bar, where Bonny wordlessly refills it. "Dr. Bitchface can't be bothered to carry a few stimpaks in her lab coat. No one else can pick up a gun and fucking _shoot things. _I felt bad about Garza, honestly did, but I'm up there with no cover fire getting tagged by lasers for those sonsabitches and I'm supposed to hand over my last three stims? I don't fucking think so."

Butch swallows, the comfortable burn of the Rudder's cheap booze settling thick in his throat. Belle's on his empty glass before he raises a hand. Knows they got the caps. Fine with him.

"We make it to the Citadel, and Dr. Li - well, I gotta hand it to her there, 'cause she fucking _unloaded _on Lyons - that old guy - made him let us in, and all that." Jay's shoulders lift in a tired shrug. "But then they all start goin' on about some device 'at's gonna make the purifier work - sure, whatever - and I knew, I just fucking _knew_ they weren't even gonna ask, they just _assumed_ I'd go get it for them because my only purpose in life is being their James 2000." His voice rises a little there, but hardly anyone looks their way. Only a few people in the Rudder this evening, and everyone seems too sunk in their own shit to care. Even Bonny isn't really listening, just leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette.

"And I was like, I gotta get the fuck out of here. I don't care if there's an army waiting on my fucking doorstep, I'll kill every sonofabitch. So I took off. Went back to Megaton." There's a distant, almost defeated look in Jay's eyes. "Way home, I - well, it was probably stupid of me but I listened to some of Dad's holotapes I found in the Jefferson." He shakes his head. "I dunno. Made me feel really weird. Like all that time, all my life, _this_ is what he was really thinking about. Why he never felt like he was really all there.

"And there's this one tape from. . . from when he decided to break out, and he goes on about how his son's grown up and he's proud of him and. . . it was like he wasn't even talking about _me_. Like how it never mattered what shit I did, he'd never fucking _yell_ at me. Couldn't even get him to raise his _voice_. He'd just tell me he was disappointed or he raised me better or whatever, in that fucking soft voice of his, and then go sit in his office and not _do_ anything. Started up the exact same way when he was asking about Megaton, how I disarmed the bomb, and I was like, yeah, 'cause it paid well, and he's all," Jay mimics his dad's voice, "_I'm not sure I approve of your motives. We'll talk later_. Sure, Dad. Whatever you say." Jay rolls his eyes.

"Jesus, what a prick." It's probably not the right thing to say, but Butch can't for his fucking life figure out what he _is_ supposed to say. He hasn't moved his arm from around Jay's shoulders even though that's probably not helping either. Can't help feeling like if he doesn't keep a hand on Jay he might just. . . well fuck, he doesn't know what. Just feels so crazy helpless against all this.

But Jay raises his head a little and actually cracks a smile. "Yeah. Goddammit _yes_. No idea how good it is to hear someone else _say_ that. Everyone fucking _worships_ my dad out here. For what, I don't fucking know. He built a purifier that doesn't work, he killed himself so the Enclave wouldn't get it and they got it anyway - 's what fucking kills me, Butch, he didn't even. . . His dying accomplished _nothing_." Jay drops his head against his arm again. His hair's just barely long enough to fall in his eyes. When he trims it, Butch thinks in the back of his head, he's gonna go easy. Just take a little off, even it out a little. "Fuck, I know I've said all this before, I just. . ."

"S'okay, man."

"Sorry for going on like this. Just tell me to shut up, seriously."

"What've I told you about apologizing?" Butch squeezes Jay's shoulder, and with his other hand throws back what's left of his drink.

"I just don't understand it," Jay says dully. "Don't know if I ever will."

After a moment, Butch asks, "So what'd you do after that?"

"Not much." Jay lets out a short laugh, but his eyes are still distant. "Had no idea what I was gonna get up and do the next day. Dad was dead. Didn't know how I was gonna get you out. Went home, slept for like twelve hours. But when I got up. . . minute I stepped out the door, I picked up Amata's message. Went straight to the Vault. You know the rest."

"Wait, so. . ." Butch is hung up on the timeline. "So you showed up, your dad had died like, _the day before?_ Jesus, I thought you meant. . ."

"'S it matter?"

"I dunno. Might not a' punched you in the face, if I'd known."

"Didn't mind." Jay laughs, a little less hollow this time. "Kinda deserved it. Should'a found some way to take you with me when I first got out. Why the hell else'd I go back to that shithole? Just wanted to get you outta there."

"Aw, come on. You care about Amata, admit it. Wasn't for her, you'd'a shot the Overseer right in the head."

Jay sighs. "Not sure I did her a favor really. 'S what she wanted, though. Best I could do."

"Yeah, man." Butch squeezes his shoulder again. "You did fine."

* * *

><p>Jay's not exactly trashed, and neither is Butch – they drink enough it takes some serious caps to get shitfaced – but they're leaning pretty heavily on each other going up the stairs to the Weatherly where Jay throws some caps at the desk robot, getting them a key to a room. Takes them three tries to get the door open and two more to get it shut right again. They both kick off their boots and not much else before collapsing on the double bed.<p>

Jay drapes an arm around his waist and murmurs, "Hit that vault t'morrow?"

Butch runs his fingers sleepily through Jay's tangled curls. "Yeah."

* * *

><p>From the outside, the vault looks pretty much like 101. A wooden-framed screen door opens into a long, narrow rock cavern, and at the end of it, the huge gear-shaped door.<p>

It's weird as hell seeing this from the outside. Like looking at yourself in one of those Reflectrons that show you your face how it actually is, and not backwards like a regular mirror. Jay throws the switch on the yellow panel, and the door screeches open.

"Doesn't seem like it should be that easy," Butch mutters.

Jay shrugs. "Probably been opened before. 101 had a pass code you needed to open the door. I got it from Amata. I don't know where my dad got it. . . .Oh, damn. Yeah, I'd say this one's been opened. Shit."

Butch can almost hear their old Overseer harping on maintenance about water leaks and droning, _Rust is vault cancer_, which he'd always thought sounded really stupid, but right now he can kind of see why. The entryway's rusted to shit. Not only that there's garbage everywhere - papers, bottles, cans. Back in 101 they'd get their asses chewed for leaving an empty glass on a table. _Cleanliness is Godliness. _All that shit.

As they step into the vestibule, it's more of the same, with pipes hissing out ominous clouds. A random storage crate lies in the middle of the floor, and Butch's eyes are drawn to what looks like a bloodstain, standing out dark against the yellow crate. He glances back at Jay, who simply nods.

The door straight ahead is jammed, so they take the one on the right. There's more blood on the floor. It looks old, dry. Butch steps around it.

He remembers exactly how to get to the barber shop in 101, naturally, and he kind of assumed - or hoped - that the layout would be the same. It isn't. Right from the start, it's wrong.

Everything's kind of wrong in this vault. It isn't just the rust, the trash, the leaking pipes. Even the air smells wrong. Maybe his time outside's made him forget, but he could swear 101 didn't smell like this.

Just down the hall on the right is a locked door, which Jay picks easily. "Good sign. Lot of scavers just duck into a place and grab the easy stuff. If the place's been picked over, anything good's gonna be behind locked doors."

A lab table's upended in front of the doorway. The room doesn't look real promising, except for a couple of lockers at the back. Jay makes a beeline for them but there's just a couple packs of smokes inside.

Butch glances toward the overturned table, and jumps back. "Oh _shit_."

Behind the table's a human skeleton, crumpled on the floor. "Jesus," Butch hisses. Seeing a newly-dead person - which he has - isn't the same as staring at some fucking _bones_. Old and discolored, the darkened skull grinning horribly where it lies on the grimy floor.

Jay kneels beside the skeleton and plucks something from its hand that Butch hadn't even seen. A pistol. He looks at the table, and only then does Butch recognize the position of things – the gun, the table on its side, facing the locked door. Jay looks back to Butch and raises an eyebrow.

"Looks like ours wasn't the only vault had a rebellion."

Butch notices suddenly that there's a working computer on the table on the back wall. He suddenly really wants to know what happened here.

"Shit, you're fast on that," Jay remarks as Butch hacks into the terminal. Well, fuck, it's not like he spent his entire teenage life figuring out how to hack into the Vault database's restricted files or anything. All these terminals log keystrokes. You just gotta know the command to call up the logs, and then pull the password out of the mess of gibberish before the system locks you out.

"What's it say?"

"Nothing interesting. Just something about the air filtration system fucking up. Typical vault shit."

* * *

><p>The hallway branches at the end, stairs down on either side. They take the right. About halfway down, Butch is hit with a flash of. . . something. It's like his vision blues out for a few seconds, and he feels weirdly disoriented. Then just as quickly, it passes and he's just staring down another grimy hallway. Beside him Jay pauses on the stairs and shakes his head.<p>

"You just see something?"

"Yeah. Something. I dunno."

"Weird."

"Yeah."

A wordless yell startles him, and he jerks his eyes up just as a guy in a blue vault suit comes tearing around the corner like a maniac, swinging a lead pipe and spitting gibberish and curses at them. It all happens too fast for them to think, too fast for a _Hey, we didn't know anyone was in here_ or _Chill out, you crazy fuck_. Jay's powerfist sends him flying against the wall, his head hits with a loud crack and he crumples to the floor.

"Damn," Jay says, nudging the guy with his foot. "Came outta nowhere."

The stand and stare for a minute.

"Hair's dyed," Jay says finally. "Gotta be hair shit somewhere."

Butch forces his squeamishness aside and grabs the corpse's green hair, pulling it aside to see the roots. "Shitty dye job. But recent. Month, tops."

Jay nods. "Let's move."

* * *

><p>Butch thought 101 had gone to shit after the rebellion, with furniture being used as barricades and trash piling up and nothing getting cleaned. He and Freddie snuck in the Atrium at night and spray-painted FUCK YOU over the THANK YOU in the THANK YOU OVERSEER sign. Sprayed out HARD and HAPPY on the HARD WORK IS HAPPY WORK one. Freddie had gotten the biggest kick out of it all - so much for Freddie the Freak like they used to call him when they were kids and he was all quiet and mousy. Freddie had turned out to be pretty cool and even fun - he made a great Tunnel Snake, unlike the <em>traitorous fuck<em>.

Didn't even freak out when they went to the cafeteria and Butch took a lead pipe and smashed the shit out of that light-up sign that said (among other rotating slogans) PROCREATION IS YOUR CIVIC DUTY, and stomped on the plastic shards until PROCREATION and DUTY were in smithereens on the tile floor, all the while snarling, "Fuck your procreation and choke on your duty," and Freddie just looked at him and laughed and said, "You said _duty_," and then they knocked over the jukebox and went back to the clinic wing and smoked cigarettes in the classroom while Amata complained about how they were misrepresenting the movement. Fuck, Butch didn't mind helping her out, but if rebellion didn't mean he got to cut loose a little then what was the fucking point?

This vault, though. This vault's another level of fucked-up. Everything is rusty and grimy - not just dirty but like _years_ dirty. Like the wastes got in.

The entrance level doesn't offer much. Couple of science labs full of broken computers, dusty consoles, rusty hoto recorders. Lab tables scattered with rotting papers and dirty coffee cups. Here and there a carton of cigarettes or some bits of scrap. In a locker they find a set of armor, not Vault Security armor but actual combat armor, something Butch never saw in 101.

At the end of the hall, they take the stairs down, and as they round the corner at the bottom, Butch's vision goes blue again - this time it holds, and he blinks, trying to shake it, when he spots movement at the far end of the hall.

An unsteady figure staggers in and out of a doorway - doubles - triples - three identical figures, three heads of the same curled brown hair - even when she was too drunk to stand up in the morning she'd somehow sober up enough to set her hair at night -

_Ma?_

It isn't, he's seeing things, he _knows_ that, but he _has_ to get close enough to see that it's not - and as he lunges forward the figures vanish, and the blue dissolves into just another rusty corridor.

Jay's beside him too, having stepped forward too, muttering, "What the fuck?"

"You see something too?"

"Thought I did." Jay shakes his head. "Weird."

* * *

><p>More signs jump out at them. Tables turned on their sides. An odd stack of crates in the middle of the Atrium, almost as if someone was using them to climb up to the balcony section. Two more howling maniacs come tearing out at them from the other side of the Atrium, and they have to kill them. A powerfist to the face of one, a switchblade in the ribs of the other.<p>

Jay's staring at the dead vault-dwellers again, and Butch wonders if it's as weird for him, killing someone in one of those blue suits. Not that these kooks are anything like them, not like this could've - well shit, 101 was fucked up but not like _this_. They weren't all running around insane with baseball bats.

Not yet anyway.

Down the other end of the Atrium balcony, another table barricade's been set up. No skeletons behind it. A long counter with a scatter of dishes, beer bottles, food - "Dog meat," Jay mutters, giving the meat a sniff, "pretty fresh. Someone's been outside." He pockets two bottles of whiskey and a frag mine. (Why the fuck are there mines in a vault?)

Jay goes to work on another locked door. "'S one's harder," he mutters, snapping a bobby pin and digging out another. "Overseer's office, maybe."

Sure enough, once Jay gets the door open, just down the hall and to the left, another door opens on that familiar circular desk. Butch knows that desk pretty well, especially after that time Jay broke them into their Overseer's office and fucked him over it. That polished wood surface was just way too inviting, and from then on whenever the Overseer was being extra shitty, Butch would smirk to himself and think, _I jizzed on your desk._

He's sure not expecting to see a person standing by the porthole window, staring out into the Atrium, and he spits out a startled "Hey-" before it hits him that everything's blue again, and this isn't real. He and Jay exchange a glance, and from the look on Jay's face he's seeing something too. And he keeps expecting the Overseer - the longer he stares at the back of his head the more he's convinced it's _their_ old Overseer - to turn around or disappear, but it's Jay who finally walks up to him, fist raised, and just before he reaches him-

The Overseer disappears. And the office is empty except for them.

They look at each other again.

"The fuck," Butch says.

"I dunno."

Jay picks through the shelves and boxes in the office. He's right about better loot behind locked doors: a heap of caps in a footlocker, a first-aid kit, few cans of turpentine, and two stimpaks in the bottom of a milk crate. Meanwhile, Butch hacks the Overseer's computer, but it's a bunch of stuff about systems and security protocols and he can't really make any sense of it. Something else about the ventilation system, though. Maybe he isn't just imagining things; maybe the air does smell weird.

* * *

><p>Across the Atrium they find a classroom full of dirty, overturned desks. Not like the desks they had in 101 which were bolted into the floor. These are wood, and freestanding so they can be knocked all over place. And instead of Mr. B's ever-present pack of Dandy Boys in the top desk drawer, a box of .308 rounds.<p>

They should be glad when they find some supplies at the bottom of the Atrium stairs, but Jay's mouth sets in a grim line as he methodically empties the grenade and mine boxes stacked in the hallway. No one needs to tell Butch that live explosives just sitting out like that is _not a good fucking sign._ Too many of those what-ifs Amata must've made herself crazy with surfacing in his head. _What if they shoot one of us. What if they haul us all out and start shooting us one by one until the rest surrender._

* * *

><p>"Seem like a lot of computers and shit in this vault?" Butch says as they wander into yet another room full of ruined consoles and holo machines and pretty much nothing useful. Jay pockets an intact Vault-Tec bobblehead (he likes those creepy things for some reason) while Butch's eyes are drawn to the windows. The room they're in must be sticking out one side of the vault or something, because there are windows on either side, looking out on bare rock, dimly lit by the vault's light.<p>

Butch rubs a circle in the window grime. The rock isn't right up against them - there's about ten feet of space in between. Like a cavern. He wipes his hand off on his hip and stares into the dark space. Could anything get in there? Is it a cave that connects to somewhere? To the surface? It feels really strange, looking out like this. Why would they put windows in, anyway?

"Place gives me the creeps," Butch mutters.

Jay slams an empty locker. "Yeah."

* * *

><p>Butch has started to notice that every time things turn blue, it's like the vault is clean and livable again, the steel walls still have their dull shine and the windows are still clear. It's like that when they turn down another corridor off the Atrium.<p>

"Dammit what the _fuck_," Jay snaps over the pneumatic hiss and click of his powerfist clenching and unclenching.

It's like a bad dream, except you can't pry your eyes open and make it disappear. With every step, every breath, waiting for everything to swim blue again, waiting for some other bullshit out of his head to take shape in front of him. Butch catches himself holding his breath, and lets it out in a harsh sigh. At the sound of it Jay's head jerks toward him. "B-man, you okay?"

"Yeah."

Butch is not gonna be a pussy about this. Totally not gonna. But when Jay grabs his hand, he doesn't pull away. Holds on.

"Just don't want to get separated."

"Yeah."

If they go crazy down here, probably no one will ever know. Flak and Shrap and Seagrave and Wolfgang will wonder why they stopped coming to trade, and Belle might wonder why they stopped coming down to drink if she gives a shit, and Simms might wonder why they haven't been back to the house, though he'd probably just think they went off on some crazy expedition. No one's gonna come looking for them. They'll tear around like nut jobs down here swinging pipes around until they starve or kill each other. Until the next scaver comes poking around and has to shoot them in the head. No one will ever know what happened to them and they'll rot in this shithole and Freddie will be the only Tunnel Snake left.

* * *

><p>He's not even surprised anymore when three Amatas run at him, faces oddly expressionless, and vanish before they reach him. When yet another insane vaultie comes howling at them, it takes him a minute to realize he's real - not another fucked-up hallucination - and he takes a police baton to the shoulder before he manages to draw his Magnum and blow the bastard away.<p>

The living quarters are eerily bare. No clothes in the dressers, no books or trinkets lying around. On one desk they find a tattered sheet of paper with a scribbled note that doesn't make much sense.

One apartment's locked. When Jay cracks into it, there are skeletons stretched out on the three beds.

"C'mon, let's get outta here," Butch mutters as Jay hastily picks and empties the wall safe.

* * *

><p>Back in the Atrium, they rest for a few minutes. Jay pops open one of the whiskey bottles and they pass it back and forth. "We can leave if you want," Jay says finally. "There's one more wing to explore, but. . .place doesn't look real promising."<p>

Butch had almost forgotten what they came for in the first place, and it's probably true they aren't going to find any pomade down here, but. He takes another swig of liquid courage, swirls it around in his mouth to cover the taste of the stale strange air. "Nah. Let's finish it out. Tunnel Snakes don't do shit halfway, right?"

"All right." Jay takes the bottle back and caps it. "Let's do work."

* * *

><p>It's weird that this wing is marked "Science Lab" considering how much science equipment they've already seen. But it turns out to be worthwhile. There are more whack jobs to be taken out, but they go down easy, and beyond them they find some chems and ammo and a set of metal armor which Butch actual likes - it's spikey and pretty badass. Have to find a reason to wear it sometime.<p>

"You know Amata would be having a fit right now," Jay comments, stuffing two bottles of Buffout into his knapsack. Jay mostly just sells the chems they find; says he doesn't want to take anything might make his hands shaky. "Killing these people just to take their stuff."

"And you'd tell her these people are out of their fucking gourds and considering what we've been seeing after a couple hours down here, they're probably seeing fuckin' dragons and unicorns by now."

"Pretty much."

"What made you think of Amata?"

Jay shrugs."

"You see her too?"

Jay glances at him. "You did?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

* * *

><p>This wing just keeps going down and down. Butch has no idea how far down they are - something it never occurred to him to wonder back in 101.<p>

Eventually they come down to what seems to be the reactor level, with crackling power units still sputtering on. For whatever reason it's the last place Butch expects to go blue. He automatically jumps into a fighting stance at the hazy figures in the blue. Not crazies. Not real. But familiar. Fucking Wally. Fucking Mack, the traitorous fuck, lunges at him, face twisted in a snarl just like that last fight they had, and he has his own blade out and slashing at the apparition just to make it disappear, while behind him he hears Jay growl, "Fuckshit," and the hiss and clack of his powerfist contracting and releasing.

Wally vanishes and Butch whirls, waiting for something else to come at him, real or not. The blue's gone, but two vault nutjobs have spotted them. This time his blade and Jay's fist connect with real flesh and blood. And then it's over and just them and the old power units crackling and snapping.

"Guess that's it," Jay says finally. "No wait - there's a door here."

* * *

><p>Just past the swinging door is a place where the wall of the vault's been blasted away. Right into the bare rock, the beginnings of a tunnel. At the end of it, a pile of skeletons. "Shit," Butch says, "they were tryin'a blow their way out."<p>

"Damn." Jay nudges the heap of bones with his boot. "Must've happened a while ago. Before the vault opened, obviously." He's quiet for a moment. "Wonder how they died."

They only upside is a shelf full of ammo boxes just inside the door.

They empty those and get the fuck out.

* * *

><p>Butch blinks hard in the light of day. It's worse than after 101, this vault was so dim. He feels tired, not so much physically, but like his brain can't take anymore crazy. "Can we rest or something?"<p>

They sit down on a rock outcropping. Jay slips his hand out his powerfist and cracks his knuckles. Pulls out a pack of cigarettes, lights one up for Butch first, then one for himself.

"Well," Jay says finally. "That was a lot of bullshit."

"Yeah."

"What'd you see?"

"Lotta bullshit, same as you."

"Your mom?"

Butch gives Jay a sideways look. "Yeah. How'd you-"

"'Cause I saw my dad."

"Right." Butch runs a hand over his hair. "Mack?"

"You saw Wally?"

"Yeah. Who were you punching at down there?"

"Stevie." Jay turns his powerfist over on his knee. "You're lucky your first kill was some raider. Someone you didn't know their name."

"I guess."

"Fuck this," Jay says, getting to his feet. "Let's get out of here." He slaps Butch on the back as they stand. "Sorry we couldn't find your hair shit."

"Fuck it," Butch says, "We'll look somewhere else. Fuck vaults, man."

"Seriously. Fuck vaults."


	8. Start Your Engines

Butch fidgets by the side of the workbench as Jay fiddles with the casing on a mini-nuke. "Uh. What happens if you fuck this up?"

"We all die." Jay twists the screwdriver. "So stop breathing down my neck."

* * *

><p>They found the bike in Rivet City, just leaning against the wall in a corner. He probably should've noticed it before – at least if they'd been down that hallway before which fuck if he knew, the whole ship's a goddamn maze, it's worse than the Vault – but it was only that particular day that he really noticed, stopping in his tracks. Was it? Shit, it <em>was.<em> A fucking _motorcycle._ He'd seen these things in pre-war holos and magazines, just like cars, but here _wa__s _one, right in front of him. Pretty beat to shit, dulled and dirty – maybe why he'd never noticed it, the ones in the holos were always so shiny and new - but real. Butch ran his hand over the seat, leaving finger-trails in the dust. "We need one of these."

"They're all over the place," Jay said, shrugging. "None of 'em work."

"So we fix it. Make it work. If they're everywhere we can find the parts." Butch brushed the dust reverently from a handlebar and knelt beside the bike, looking it over. Truth was, he'd dreamed of having one of these ever since he was nine and saw those old pictures of the guys with their glossy hair and black leather and white t-shirts and cuffed jeans and shiny cars and bikes – still the very definition of cool to him. And here was a solid metal chunk of cool, leaning against a wall in Rivet City.

Had to have it.

Jay nudged the deflated rear tire with his boot. "Don't you need roads for these things?"

"Don't care. We need one."

Jay grinned. "Whatever you want, B-man."

* * *

><p>"Seagrave, my man." Jay slapped the merchant a high-five. "Know anything about engines?" It was a long shot but Seagrave was sitting there in a motorcycle helmet with a shop full of all kinds of pre-war junk, and knew a lot of shit about random shit, and seemed as good a shot as anyone.<p>

"Done a bit of tinkering. I'm certainly no expert." Seagrave scratched his mustache. "You guys planning on doing something with that bike you just hauled down?"

"That's the idea. Think you might take a look at it?"

"Anything for you!" Seagrave said cheerfully. "You sure fixed Bannon good." Bannon? The snooty fuck in the sweatervest? Butch would've asked, but Seagrave was already following them to the corner where they had the bike.

"Huh." Seagrave knelt and poked at the bike a bit. "Well, believe it or not, the gas engine's in all right shape. Might even work. Main engine's completely shot, so you'll need to find one from another bike. Doubt you'll find one with an intact fusion core, though – chain reactions when the bombs fell set off pretty much everything – but if the rest is all right, you could jury-rig a core from something else. . ."

"What's with the gas engine, anyway?" Jay said. "Kind of outdated, even by prewar standards, isn't it?"

"Most bikes went hybrid before the war," Butch explains. "Gas's mostly for trick-riding and all that. Nuke doesn't handle overdrive well."

Jay raises an eyebrow at him.

"What? I've read stuff."

"You'll need to collect some other parts, too," Seagrave continues. "I probably got some of what you need. Gas tank's caved in, I can hook you up with that if you need one."

"So it's all do-able, right?" Butch said. "Fuck yeah. Let's do work."

* * *

><p>Only took them a few days of scavenging to get most of the parts together. Butch decided he wasn't going to pick on Jay anymore for those lockers full of seemingly random crap he was always collecting, because a bunch of that crap came in handy for the bike. A new gas tank, handbrakes that weren't snapped off or rusted away, nuts and bolts and screws and bits of scrap metal. A few other parts, they got from Seagrave, like some headlights and taillights, mismatched but functional.<p>

For the rest, they combed over the outer DC ruins for abandoned bikes they could strip. Jay was right, there were a ton of them, down alleys and leaning against buildings. Butch should've noticed them but he sort of had to see one up close before it registered. It'd taken some time to get used to things outside, to be able to look around without feeling completely overwhelmed.

The hardest thing to find was actually set of decent tires. Two hundred years out in the weather doesn't do anything good to rubber, it turns out. They ended up lucking out with a stack of street tires in some old garage way to the west. Brought back as many as they could carry.

Actually putting everything together took longer. A good cleaning with some rags and Abraxo (there wasn't much paint left anyway) took off most of the dirt and grit so they could see what they were working with. Butch got his hands on some old repair books - he'd had a couple down in the Vault, stashed under his mattress along with all his comic books and dirty magazines, but he hadn't thought to bring anything out with him beyond his toothpick, his stolen 10 mil and that one tin of pomade he managed to stretch for a couple of weeks. Luckily Wolfgang had gotten his hands on a mostly-full jar from someplace or other and saved it for him - not Butch's favorite brand but it would do the job for now. Still hadn't turned up any leads for a long-term supply.

They spent so much time in Rivet City over the next couple of weeks that Vera gave them a deal on a hotel room with a queen bed that beat the fuck out of the one they had in Megaton, which Butch was still on Jay's ass about. ("Man, seriously? You can afford a Nuka machine, a jukebox and your own goddamn robot but you can't get us a decent bed?") Besides which, Rivet City's actually got showers, even if water use is rationed up the ass.

In between jobs they spent all their free time in the corner of the marketplace where there was a workbench and a locker security let them use to lock up their stuff. It occurred to Butch that security let them get away with a lot of shit, and when he asked Jay about it Jay just shrugged and said he'd done the Chief a favor. Made sense. Pretty much what they'd done with the Overseer down in the Vault.

Between the two of them and with a few tips from Seagrave, they figured stuff out piece by piece. Butch had his magazines and had read whatever he could get his hands on about pre-war vehicles down in the Vault, and Jay was good with tinkering and fixing stuff in general, even if he didn't know anything about bikes.

Some of it wasn't real complicated, just taking off the damaged parts and replacing them, like the gas tank. The most work went into getting the engine itself going. As predicted, they hadn't found one with an intact core. "I'm going to regret telling you this, I'm sure," Seagrave said, "but your easiest bet might be to take one out of a mini-nuke."

"A what?" said Butch, but Jay was already halfway to Flak and Shrapnel's before the words were out of his mouth, and a minute later he was walking back with something that no-shit looked like a tiny version of that bomb in Megaton. "Let's do this."

* * *

><p>To distract himself from their likely doom, Butch goes back to tinkering with the transmission. Seagrave stands by, watching their work with interest. Or maybe just concern.<p>

Butch hears a _clunk_ sound, and Jay muttering, "Whoops." Great. His dream is gonna blow up the only decent city in the wasteland. Well. At least it'll be a memorable death. Maybe he should get on the bike before the nuke goes off. Least he can die looking cool.

"There we go." Jay's got the nosecone separated from the rest of the casing, revealing the core. "Just gotta remove the detonator. . ." He glances at Butch, sees his expression and laughs out loud. "Megaton, Butchman, remember? Trust me. I got this."

* * *

><p>With nothing else they need to do today, and the bike so close to done, they throw themselves into the final repairs, parts and tools spread around them on the floor. They're so deep in it they almost forget to eat until Gary brings them a couple of ice-cold Nukas - on the house, he says, because the spectacle they're causing is drawing people down to the market and bringing him more business. Whatever. Hey, free shit, they ain't complaining.<p>

"Where'd you learn so much about explosives, anyway?" Butch asks, taking a swig of his cola.

"Cherry-bombing Dad's toilet."

"C'mon, man. I'm being serious. You were out here, what, a week and you killed that nuke in Megaton?" Butch sets his bottle down with a clink on the metal floor and reaches for the socket wrench. "How'd you know how to do that?"

"Yeah well." Jay shrugs, eyes on the engine in front of him, working on getting the core seated. His hair's pushed behind his ears, except for a couple of pieces up front that are too short to stay put and just long enough to fall in his eyes. How that doesn't drive him nuts is something Butch will never get. "I'd picked up some stuff."

"Where the fuck do _you pick up some stuff_like that?"

Jay lets out a short laugh. "Truth? Read a bunch of stuff on explosives when I was like thirteen. Tryin'a figure out how to blast my way out of the Vault."

Butch almost drops the wrench. "_Seriously?_ Like those people in 106 were tryin' to do?"

"Pretty much like that."

"_Damn."_

"Yeah." Jay shrugs. "Wasn't a good year."

"Shit, man. We should'a teamed up."

Jay snorts. "Yeah, that probably wouldn't'a gone over well."

That's the truth. When they were kids, he and Jay fucking hated each other. Can't even really remember why, just remembers hating the Doc's kid's stinking guts and picking fights with him every chance he got. Kicking the shit out of each other up and down the corridors, Brotch or Jonas or Stanley or Officer Gomez or the fucking Overseer himself having to step in and haul them apart and throw them in separate rooms to cool off.

No one ever believed Butch when he'd say he didn't start shit, but the thing is with Jay, half the time he wasn't even lying, 'cause his feelings about the Doc's kid were fucking mutual. And Jay was. . . maybe worse in some ways. Like Butch might've made jokes about setting Brotch's desk on fire but Jay was the one who _actually set shit on fire_ more than once, like the trash chute in the guys' bathroom, or that one time in chemistry class.

Butch got in fights over like, slights and insults and to get stuff he wanted and shit like that. Jay got in fights to get in fights. There was some nasty shit he said about Butch's mom back when, just to get Butch to throw the first punch. Not that he holds any of that against him now - hell, Butch could shit-talk with the best of 'em and he said some colorful things about Jay's dad, too. They were just kids. Just fucking kids who didn't know shit from shit or which way was up, stuck in that fucking rat-maze shithole of a vault.

And then, Butch always had Paul and Wally to horse around with, too, while Jay had. . . Amata, and he's not hating on Amata okay, not now, she turned out to be pretty all right, but. . .just, how was she supposed to get somebody like Jay? How was he supposed to deal?

And then the year they were both twelve-turning-thirteen, Jay just. . . shut down. Stopped fighting, stopped smartassing. . . not completely but so much less it was _weird_ and for months everybody kind of wondered what the fuck he was up to.

Nothing major really happened, though, far as anyone could see. Took more than a year but Jay started to come back, slowly and in unpredictable bursts – but even unpredictable was better than that scary-quiet. It's not like he went back to how he was as a kid, exactly, but he got to be _Jay_ again. Eventually. Smirking, brawling, mouthing off, cutting class. They were maybe fifteen or sixteen when he stopped cutting his hair. And seventeen when. . .well, yeah. Butch may not have been expecting that exactly, but it's not like he hadn't thought about it. Can't say quite when he went from wanting to kick the shit out of Jay to wanting to kick his ass and fuck his brains out afterward, but only so many times you can have someone pop into your head while you're beating off before you have to admit to yourself you've got it bad for 'em.

Their eyes meet and Jay nods slightly, like he's remembering too.

"Shit turned out pretty fucking good for us, didn't it?" Jay says finally, cracking a slight smile.

Butch nods. And somewhere deep down, some small stupid part of him wants to say that if Jay's dad hadn't busted out of the vault, none of this would've happened. But since that part of him is small, and stupid, he shakes it off. He may run his mouth sometimes but even he knows better than to say something like that. Know nothing is that fucking simple.

* * *

><p>"She done?" Seagrave asks, eyebrows raised as he looks the bike over. "Well, hot damn. Not bad."<p>

By "done," what they mean is it starts, with the ignition switch Shrapnel helped them rig up in the absence of a key. Both engines run and keep running, finally, after the fucking tedious task of unblocking the coolant valves around the fusion engine. Full up on all the necessary fluids, a round of fresh microfusion cells plugged in. Brakes seem to work. . .as best they can tell, anyway. Real test'll be the road. What road there is. Not the prettiest thing in the world, but it works, and it's theirs.

"Dust's gonna be a problem for you out there," Seagrave comments, running his hand over the rear wheel cover. "And unless you can find some auto paint that's not congealed into a solid mass – which I doubt – wear's gonna be rough on 'er. You'll need to stay on top of the maintenance."

Jay shrugs. "Already gotta do that with my guns. 'S life out here."

* * *

><p>Actually getting the bike outside's kind of a production, but a loose sheet of pressboard paneling laid over the stairs serves as a ramp, and then it's straight across the bridge and down the metal walkways to ground level. Seagrave leans on the railing watching them, and a few other Riveters have gathered as well. Vera and the Rivet kids - C.J., Bryan, and that little one-man shitshow James Hargrave - have come out to watch them too.<p>

From somewhere Jay's gotten himself two of those old helmets. Same kind Seagrave wears.

"That's gonna fuck up my hair."

"Wear it." Jay tosses the helmet at him and Butch catches it against his chest. "I don't feel like scraping you off the pavement."

"Says the man who just cracked open a mini-nuke with a screwdriver."

"Put the motherfucking helmet on."

Butch grumbles but eases the helmet down over his carefully-constructed flop. So much for looking cool. Jay pushes his hair back and settles his own helmet on, curls sticking out at the back of his neck. Least Jay gets to look stupid too. Butch wonders if it's even possible to look cool in a motorcycle helmet. Maybe if it was black, at least. If they could find some black paint somewhere maybe give the bike a new paint job too. And maybe a Tunnel Snake logo on the side. . .

When Butch swings a leg over and straddles the cracked leather seat, it's probably the best feeling besides fucking that he's ever known. No, when he starts the engine – when he feels that power rumbling underneath him – _this_ is the best feeling ever. He revs it. _Fuck_ yes. Combine this with fucking and he might just come and then die.

Jay slides in behind him, thighs hugging his hips, and Butch hopes he can drive with a hard-on.

He starts off easy, bumping along the uneven pavement, most of his concentration turning to trying to stick to the smooth spots and not always succeeding. Gives the handbrakes a squeeze to test them. Decent enough. He hears someone – sounds like that Bryan kid – cheering from the bridge as they sail down the incline toward the Jefferson enclosed behind its shimmering blue wall.

As he gets the hang of the steering, he gets confident enough to accelerate a little. The dusty wind in his face stings his eyes and he finds himself blinking and squinting, has to slow down again. "Damn. I need some shades or something."

"Here." Jay's hands reach around him, slipping a pair of sunglasses over his face. "Wear my Luckies."

The shades help a lot. Not squinting makes everything smoother. Well, relatively. The front tire lurches against a gap in the pavement and Butch overcompensates, swerving a little. He hangs a right, gives it some juice to sail up the short hill past the mutie camp they cleared out a week or so ago. Ruins flying by on their right, river down to the left, hazy gray skyline far ahead feeling just a little less far away. Fuck yes. This is _it_, right here - something he's always wanted but could never explain, still can't quite, but this feeling of _moving_, of speed, of being able to get places, being _free_.

Jay grabs his crotch and Butch hits a heave in the asphalt, nearly going over, before he jerks the handlebars to bring them back to center. "Damn it."

Jay laughs. "Like this, huh?"

"You trying to kill us both, asshole?"

"Maybe." Jay rubs his hard-on with the heel of his hand and Butch groans, trying to keep his eyes on the road and steer. "You could always pull over."

"_Oh_. That what you want?"

Butch turns down an alley, kicking up a cloud of dust and giving the flanking buildings a once-over. No muties, no raiders. It works. Before he's even stopped completely, Jay's hands are on his chest pulling at his zippers. He loses focus a little as he brings the bike to a standstill and leans heavily on one foot. How the fuck do these things stay upright again?

"Kickstand, genius."

Butch kicks it down. "Fuck yourself."

Jay's hand slides down the open front of his jacket and gives his bulge an agonizing squeeze. "Doesn't look like I'm gonna have to."

He tugs Butch's helmet off, and then his own, and Butch ignores how fucked up his hair is for the moment and relaxes against Jay, letting himself be groped and unzipped and pulled out into the open air, letting his neck be bitten, murmuring, "_Yeah_, right there," as Jay's mouth travels up under his left ear and sucks what'll probably be a mark into the flesh right behind his jaw. A hand tangles in his hair, pulling his head back a little more so that mouth can get at his throat.

At the sound of Jay spitting into his hand, Butch thinks fleetingly, fuck these stupid vault suits, 'cause he can't help thinking of other things Jay can do to him with those hands, or how good would it be sink back onto his cock right here, except fucking clothes and zippers and _fuck_, Butch lets out a shuddery gasp feeling Jay's hand on his dick again, rubbing his wet palm over the head and down the shaft, circling him in a tight, warm grip at the base and sliding slowly and deliberately back up. Jay loosens his grip, teases the head with his fingertips, making Butch shiver.

He strokes down and back up with just two fingers and his thumb, and Butch's breathing descends into ragged panting and he squirms against Jay's solidness behind him, arms wrapped around him and holding him in place, arms pinned at his sides where he hooks his hands around Jay's thighs to have something to hold onto. Jay's other hand pushes up the hem of his t-shirt and sliding under it, broad hot palm against his skin, fingers finding a nipple and pinching. "Shit," Butch hisses, nerves jumping, feeling teeth and tongue on his neck again and Jay pressing up against him, his own erection pressed against his lower back, and those fucking _fingers _gliding along the underside of his cock and vibrations from the bike idling under them, rumbling against his ass, adding a whole new sensation. Butch bites his lip hard, trying to hold out, trying not to beg for more, at least not yet, but oh god Jay's _hands_, the hand under his shirt that's moved to his other nipple, pinching and teasing, Jay's mouth biting and sucking intently on his neck, the intensity of that feeling making his cock twitch and ache.

He stops bothering to hold back his moans when Jay wraps his cock in a perfect, full-handed grip, giving him shallow pumps along the shaft, sliding up so his thumb can caress the precome-slicked head, and, "_Jay_," Butch groans, his voice needy, almost begging – yeah, okay, he is begging, _fuck, _he just needs more, needs to come _now_. Jay bites his ear, drawing a wet gasp out of him. Butch's eyes are only half-open, he's only half-aware of the noises he's making, noises that get lost in the wind rattling between the ruined shells of buildings.

The fist around him tightens, Jay's left hand slips out from under his shirt and into his hair, pulling his head back against his shoulder, and he feels Jay grinding hard against his lower back, and breathing heavily against his ear. His eyes close completely as Jay's hand slides up again, enclosing the head of his cock in slick, tight heat, squeezing him rhythmically, speeding up but not quite fast enough, until he digs his fingers into Jay's thighs and pants out "Fucking come _on_."

Jay's hand starts to move more, jerking him in longer, faster strokes and that point it doesn't take long before Butch's gasping, he's so close, and then with a harsh groan he's coming, probably all over himself but he isn't fucking looking, or caring right now, his head thrown back on Jay's shoulder and Jay's mouth against his throat as he works him through his orgasm in that way he's so good at, drawing out all those little spasms for a good minute or more.

Jay's grip on him finally relaxes, and his whole awareness kind of blurs out for a minute as he just leans back against him, panting and stupid with pleasure, until Jay's hands untangle from him and he feels him shift at his back. He straightens himself up lazily and twists his head over his right shoulder to watch as Jay finishes himself off, dropping his face against Butch's shoulder as he gets close, and Butch threads a hand in that thick gorgeous hair to give it a tug as Jay lets out a rough, unguarded moan and comes into his own hand.

Grabbing Jay's wrist, Butch pulls that hand to his mouth, sucking every finger clean and working his tongue in between them and over his palm in a way that gets an appreciative grunt from Jay. Butch releases his hand and turns his attention to cleaning himself up as best he can, since Jay made way more of a mess of him than he did of himself, probably on purpose. Least the leather wipes off easy enough. Still-

"Fuck these vault suits, man," Butch says as they zip up and he settles his helmet back over his destroyed hair. "Done with this shit. I want some jeans or somethin'."

Jay laughs a satisfied laugh, settling back behind him, hands on his hips. "Whatever you want, B-man."

* * *

><p>Most of the Riveters have dispersed by the time they get back, but the kids are still there looking eagerly over the railing, even the Hargrave kid, though he looks like he's trying to look like he doesn't give a shit. Vera waves and calls down, "You boys have a nice ride?"<p>

"Hell yeah," Butch calls back. Behind him, Jay snickers.


	9. Evergreen Kills

They didn't exactly plan on wiping out Evergreen Mills. They were only in the area to drop off a bunch of Nuka Quantums to that nutjob Sierra in Girdershade. And after she stopped squealing she forked over a shit ton of caps and then offered them something she called Mississippi Quantum Pie, and Jay said they'd take the Mississippi and hold the pie. Butch usually hates vodka - it's what his mom drinks - but mixed with some of that glowing purple shit, turns out it's not half bad.

And it's not like it was their fault that asswipe Ronald was waiting for them outside Sierra's house, bitching about how they were both of them trying to steal his girl, and when he insisted he could take both of them at once, well, then it was a matter of _pride_, and they couldn't leave until they'd wrestled him to the ground - which took all of about thirty seconds - and held him down and made him say, "Tunnel Snakes rule and I suck mole rat dongs," before they'd let him up, and after Jay hauled him to his feet and shoved him in the direction of his shack and yelled after him, "Also, I don't fuck girls!" he'd jerked around to stare at them with a look both baffled and disgusted, before huffing inside and slamming his door.

So they were still laughing their asses off about that and maybe weren't looking _exactly_ where they were going when they stumbled up to the edge of the ravine, and they probably weren't all that quiet so of course they were spotted immediately by the raiders patrolling the camp below, and when the raiders starting firing, of course they had to shoot back.

They probably didn't _have_ to kick in the door to the main building, after clearing out the camp and the outbuildings. And maybe Jay didn't _have_ to fire off a few rounds into the ceiling and hollar, "SUCK IT, MOTHERFUCKERS, TUNNEL SNAKES RUUULE," at the top of his lungs, but fuck, it kinda seemed like the thing to do.

Some of the raiders had guns, but plenty of them just came charging out with knives and bats and shit, and those were Butch's favorite 'cause he got to fight up close and personal, switchblade flying, blood-and-bruises honest-to-fuck _fighting_. Everything he'd dreamed it would be outside the Vault. And then some. After that shock of his first human kill a few weeks back (Jay had been right, it was weird as fuck, shook him up more than he expected), he couldn't deny the satisfaction of sticking a raider right between the ribs and watching 'em go down.

* * *

><p>The cavern's gone silent except for a faint sound of trickling water somewhere, and their own heavy breathing. They're way back in some little room that looks like it was a shop or something counters and shelves and lockers piled with all kinds of crap.<p>

Jay takes a step back from the last raider, a girl with spiky pink hair, looks about their age if not younger. She's got a nose like Susie and Butch tears his eyes away and looks back at Jay, with his hair all tangled, and blood in it and on his face, his jaw bruised, lip cut, and his blue eyes sharp and alert, scanning the area one last time before coming to rest on Butch, and oh fuck, he's gorgeous like this, all battered and messy with that predatory look on his face.

Jay takes a step toward him, sliding his powerfist off his hand before reaching out to trace a thin trickle of blood down the side of Butch's face. Butch fingers a nick in his worn black leather. "Fucked up your jacket."

"What else is new." Jay catches Butch by the belt and drags him closer. "Wolfgang'll fix it."

And then his mouth is on Butch's, tense and hungry, and Butch shoves him toward the nearest support beam, shoves him so hard he staggers before settling back against the wooden beam, yanks Butch in against him so hard _he_ stumbles, and bites back ferociously at Butch's mouth, all teeth and hot tongue. Butch tastes blood as they fumble for zippers, knocking hands. Jackets open, Jay's hand tugging the hem of his t-shirt free and shoving up under it. Butch gets Jay's fly open and _fuck_ jumpsuits, getting some jeans was the best decision of their mutual lives, even if they did have to get them from the snooty fuck in the sweatervest who made a huge _thing_ about charging them more than the usual price, and when Jay just shrugged, said, "Whatever" and threw down the caps, it seemed to piss him off even more.

He slides his hand into Jay's pants, Jay's cock hardening in his hand as he feels him up all along his length and cups his balls before pulling him out for better access. Jay grabs him by the hips, swings them both around and pins Butch against the support beam, and Butch barely fights it - it feels just too good being sandwiched between the wooden pillar and Jay's hot body, especially when Jay's hands head south. A hand on his cock has Butch moaning into the kiss, dropping his head back against the beam and Jay doesn't let up, pressing up against him, kissing him hard and unrelenting.

Butch relaxes, letting his weight sink against the beam, the edges digging into his shoulder blades as Jay's fingers drag along his own hard length, pulling him out, pausing to spit in his palm before wrapping his hand around both of them together, cock against cock, slick skin sliding on skin as he rocks against him. Butch pushes back and Jay sucks in a gasp of air through his teeth, full of Butch's tongue and tasting like liquor and Nuka and blood and sweat and heavy hot breaths, every roll of Jay's hips drawing moans against each other's mouths. Butch grabs a double-handful of Jay's ass, and the sensation of a thumb running over the head of his cock sends shivers up his spine.

Jay suddenly releases his grip and grinds in hard, letting their cocks slip side-by-side trapped tight between them and when Butch groans, Jay snickers breathlessly, rolls his hips again and Butch shudders as he spills hot in between them, and Jay's breath comes in broken gasps, sweaty forehead pressed against Butch's, as he comes against Butch's stomach and they slump against each other panting and sticky.

Butch rests a hand in the small of Jay's back for a moment, holding him while he catches his breath, until he pushes off lazily, tugs his t-shirt back down, stuffs himself into his pants and shoves his hair out of his eyes. "Let's loot the fuck outta this place."

The take is incredible. They make out like – well, like fucking raiders.

Butch is busy collecting all the booze from behind the bar when he hears Jay burst out laughing. "Butch. _Butch_. Oh my god. Get over here. You gotta see this. The fucking raiders-" He's nearly choking with laughter.

The cabinet he's just opened is stuffed top to bottom with hair stuff - cheap color kits and gels and mousse and wax, but best of all a huge stack of combs and pomade. Every brand he knows and some he doesn't. "Shit," Butch breathes. "Fucking _raiders._" He'll be set for a year. Well, a few months at least.

"Fucking raiders," Jay snorts, getting a handle on himself. "Shit, man. We get back to Rivet, I am gonna fuck up your hair _so bad._"

"I will fucking _murder you."_

Jay snickers. "I fucking bet you will."


	10. Belowdecks

_**AN:** This one was written a while back as a birthday gift for a friend and fellow ficwriter, stpitbull on Tumblr, who's been a huge support and inspiration to me._

* * *

><p>There's nothing really resembling <em>privacy<em> down in the Rudder, but there's at least an alcove out of sight of the bar and balcony. It's a quiet night, just the usual after-hours crowd. Flak and Shrap, Sister, a few others. Trinnie trying to flirt her way to free drinks like usual. The dull mutter of talk is just barely loud enough for decent cover.

They're good unless somebody comes down the stairs. And if someone does, fuck 'em.

He's gotta make his move quick, and Jay's gonna fight him for it; he doesn't give Butch the chance to do this very often. He actually takes it at first, being pushed against the steel wall, resting his hands on Butch's hips, and closing his eyes as Butch bites down his neck and runs a hand down his chest to unzip his jacket.

Jay pulls Butch's face up to his and kisses him deep and all tongue, but slow. Trying to distract him. He feels Jay's body tense, feels his arm drop back to push himself off the wall. Grabs his wrist before he can get there and shoves his hips hard against Jay, pinning him where he is.

Jay's eyes open to meet his with a smirk, eyebrow raised in an _Oh yeah?_ Butch raises one right back, runs his hand up the back of Jay's neck and into his hair, and dives back in to bite his ear. Can't tell if Jay's responding push against him is fight or want. Probably both. He lets go of Jay's wrist to reach down and feel up his growing bulge, drawing a tight groan. But when Jay's free hand reaches for him, he catches it again. Nope. Jay may or may not be about to say something when Butch bites his mouth, but if he is he lets it go, pulls him in tight and returns his kiss harder and hungrier.

Jay's eyes follow him as he drops to his knees, and Butch is still half-expecting a fight as he unbuckles his belt and unzips his jeans. A thumb presses into the corner of Butch's mouth and he glances up to see Jay still watching him, running his thumb over his lips as Butch palms against his cock, and Jay pushes back a little and even though his eyes are a little wide and oddly vulnerable, his mouth quirks into a slight smirk again.

His eyes flutter closed at the feeling of Butch's hot breath hitting him, his hands pulling his cock out and cupping his balls. He tenses a little as Butch's mouth slides over him, and makes a tight sound in his throat as Butch welcomes him with a generous sweep of tongue, tasting the salty tang of sweat and precome. Butch gets settled, wrapping a hand around the base of Jay's cock and playing around, alternately lightly sucking and tracing every groove and vein until barely restrained moans meet his ears.

Fingers shove into Butch's hair, which he knew was coming; it's a small price to pay for those breathy groans he gets, and the truth is he _really_ likes the prickling tug on his scalp as Jay's hands tighten, as Butch sucks his cock down his throat as far as he can, holds him there for as long as he can stand. Totally worth it.

The couple of drinks Jay's had already tonight slow things down just enough he can really take his time; Butch pulls back and just drags his tongue over the underside of Jay's cock, making it twitch in his mouth and making Jay utter a low, breathless curse at him. Good. Jay's a fucking _merciless_ tease when he's the one on his knees. Deserves to get as good as he gives. Butch barely moves his lips, just plays at him with his tongue until Jay lets out something like a growl and his hands tighten in his hair. Another flick and Jay's hips buck desperately.

'Bout time.

Butch moans encouragingly around the cock suddenly deep in his throat again, the vibration sending a shudder through Jay, who finally lets himself go and starts rocking against his mouth. Butch grabs two handfuls of Jay's ass, keeps up with fast, rough strokes of tongue, and he's close, Butch can feel it in how he tenses, how hard he's breathing, in the hands tugging at his hair, all of it tipping _him_ from hard to painful to the point he's not going to be fighting _anything_ Jay wants to do to him after this.

Jay curses sharply as he comes hard, harsh breaths escaping and hips jerking forward and back arching against the wall, and Butch is caught mid-swallow by hands dragging him off by his hair, just in time to let Jay's last spurts hit his lips. Jay's hands release his hair and fingers brush his mouth again, smearing his spunk over his lips, and Butch catches those fingers with his teeth and sucks them clean.

Jay's hand lingers on the side of his face as they both catch their breath, and he lets out a long, satisfied sigh, relaxing for a moment against the steel wall, and the blood roaring in Butch's ears slowly gives way to the low murmur of indifferent voices at the bar.


	11. Balls Enough

_A/N: Inspired by a prompt from a tumblr friend. This was posted on the kmeme like a month ago aaand just forgot to upload it here, sorries._

* * *

><p>"They last about an hour-"<p>

"So _you_ should be fine then-"

"Fuck yourself-"

"Oh, like you weren't gonna say it."

Jay elbows Butch in the ribs. "Stuff it." A bobby pin snaps off in the lock, the broken end flying. Jay curses and fishes another out of his pocket. Butch nudges him. "Heads up. Vera."

But the Weatherly lady turns a corner and doesn't come their way.

_Click._

Danvers is night security in the Marketplace. She's gonna hear the door; that's a given. You can't breathe on these old creaky-ass steel doors without making noise, and in a big echoey open space like the Market, it's gonna be heard. But there's a lot of other noises on the ship, too; whole damn thing creaks and groans and settles, footsteps echo down from the upper decks and mirelurks scuffle around down below. Trick is she's gotta not _see_ the door open. Gotta think she just heard some other noise.

"Ready?" Jay murmurs.

"Born ready." Butch activates the Stealth Boy on his wrist.

It _feels_ the same. That's the weird part. Can't see his own hands, just a waver in the air, and it just seems like he should feel something, but he doesn't. Not so much as a tingle.

Jay vanishes to a shimmer next to him, and the shimmer edges the door open just enough and touches Butch on the thigh. Butch slides through first, moving quick, smooth, snakelike. Ducks behind the medical exam table sitting just inside the door as Jay follows him and presses the door closed, a whisper of steel against steel, and moves to his side. Footsteps stir below. And they wait.

Danvers isn't stupid. She's not gonna come all the way up to the corner of the balcony to check on a closed door while turning her back on the shops where the stealable shit actually is. She'd never fall for a trick like that. And that's why they're gonna get away with this.

The Market's dim at night, a few low lights looking bluish-green against all the steel – a lot like in the Vault. From the corner where they're crouched, Butch can just see around the corner of Flak and Shrap's, can see Danvers walking slowly in their direction. Purposeful steps. She heard something, no doubt about that. Her head turns, scanning the balcony, scanning each entrance, scanning the shops one by one. Scans their corner again. The pool table's like twenty feet away and just the anticipation is getting Butch hard. Jay's hand resting on his thigh doesn't hurt either, and he's tempted to grab at Jay to feel if he's popping one already too, but Danvers is already alert and any sound they make's likely to be heard, and she might or might not shoot them on sight if she spots them. Butch doesn't know 'cause he's not in the habit of breaking into the Market at night – not that he's opposed to the idea, but it ain't like he and Jay _need_ to break into the Market to steal shit, considering how many people just leave their shit lying around. Someone leaves a beer or a bowl of noodles or a combat knife unattended, it's pretty much their duty as Tunnel Snakes to swipe it.

Danvers turns, paces the other way. Jay's hand squeezes his thigh and they move again, skulking around the corner of the balcony. Straight ahead's the pool table, where bored Riveters like to knock a few balls around in the afternoons. Butch is pretty fucking ace at pool because what else was there to do down in the goddamn Vault when they weren't fighting or pranking or fucking. He and Jay've had a few games since they started more or less living on the boat. There's a table down in the Rudder, but that one smells like piss and the felt's torn up in the worst places that always fuck up Butch's corner shots and then he gets his ass kicked by Shrapnel who's learned to aim around the rips, so fuck that shit. Plus there are never enough balls for a decent game.

They've gotten up to more than their share of shit down in the Rudder, but the place never closes and Bonny never leaves. Swear to god the woman doesn't fucking _sleep_. Jay tried to clear the place once by setting off a fire alarm on the lower deck, which in the Vault would've set everyone scurrying, but nobody moved, just slumped over their booze and hollered at Belle about the noise. "No respect for fuckin' procedure," Butch muttered, and they left the alarm clanging and Brock trying to disable it while they went up to the bridge to smoke and throw rocks at the mirelurks.

Jay stops moving suddenly, which Butch only finds out by running into him and getting an elbow to the chest. They straighten up cautiously, keeping an eye below. Danvers is back in her groove, pacing between the shops, scanning the area, not looking at them. Jay pushes Butch against the edge of the table as they stand. Their mouths find each other, a little awkwardly, bumping noses in a way they never do, but Jay nips at his lower lip in his familiar way, and Butch's eyes close because it's less weird that way. Jay's hands come up under his ass and try hike him up onto the edge of the table, but Butch keeps his feet on floor, bites Jay's lip and pushes back. Arms tighten around him instead of fighting him and for a few minutes they just make out right where they are, hands under each other's jackets groping and touching everything they can't see. Jay's hand squeezes his cock and Butch hisses against his mouth, and Jay breaks away.

A scatter of dirty shot glasses and the broken pool triangle slide aside, pushed by an invisible hand, and the shimmer that's Jay hops up on the edge of the table, swings his legs up and Butch crawls on top of him, hands on his hips pulling him in close again, and then a hand wrapping around the back of his neck and pulling him down.

It's crazy - when he closes his eyes everything's normal, Jay's body under him and hot mouths and hands stuck all over each other, but when he opens them, just wavering air over faded red felt, even though he can feel Jay's body and his heat under him. Can't see his own hands on Jay, but can feel Jay's hardness under his palm, feel the shiver that passes through Jay's body as he presses down.

Hands unbuckle, unzip, slide into his pants and over his ass. A squeeze and one hand pulls away, and then he feels the nudge of fingers at his lips. Butch sucks them into his mouth and laves all over them impatiently with his tongue and the fingers pull away, and Jay's dry hand is tugging his jeans down and spreading him open, and those two wet fingers press into him, opening him with short, sharp thrusts and then pushing knuckle-deep with a twist and a trace of impatience. Gasping silently against Jay's mouth, Butch grinds down on him, not even caring that Jay's still fully dressed, letting Jay's mouth move to his neck and bite, biting his own lip to keep quiet. Hard to hold back, hard not to groan when the fingers working into him are making him harder, making his gut twist with need.

He slides his knees down on either side of Jay and pushes himself up a little, leaning on one elbow as he fumbles for Jay's fly. Feels Jay's fingers pull out of him, Jay shifting to push his jeans down below his hips feels his cock spring out and fuck yes he wants to be on that. Fucking pants though and he's going to have to get them actually _off_ if he wants to do it like this, and fuck it he does want to do it like this. Swears he hears the quietest half-snort of suppressed laughter from Jay as he sits back fumbling with his invisible bootlaces - why the fuck didn't they just get naked before they stealthed in here? If they're gonna get caught fucking on a pool table, does it really matter if Danvers gets an eyeful of Butch's ass in the process? Soon as his boots are off there's tugging at the legs of his jeans, invisible hands pulling them off him and dropping them under the table or somewhere. Butch sits back, spitting in his hand. Feels for Jay - his thigh, his hip, his cock, bingo – and slicks him up good, stroking up and down his rigid length.

Shifting over Jay, he starts to sink down on him. Slow, the soft bump of the head slipping past the tight ring of muscle, and then the slide down his shaft all the way to the base, until Jay's buried in him, and he gives his hips a roll, savoring the fullness.

Jay's hips arch up to meet him him, hands tight and needy on his hips, as Butch starts riding him in slow, smooth motions. It's rougher with just spit – been a while since they did it that way – but he doesn't mind the added friction since he can't move all that hard or fast on the table without making noise. Fuck it's hard not to speed up though, with Jay rocking up against him, breathing heavily under him, a slight creak of the table under them both, no gotta stay slow, not too hard or the thing's likely to collapse under them but god this feels good. Struggling to hold back his own heavy breaths, the groans he's used to just letting loose, and he finds himself focusing on the silence that presses in around them, silence that isn't really silence but the constant low groaning of old steel settling, faint sounds of decks below. Eyes closed letting the drone of background noise become a dull roar in his ears, more surreal when he opens them and his brain stumbles over their invisibility again, a flicker of almost-nothing where Jay's eyes should be half-closed and his hair tangled and damp with sweat and the leather jacket (Butch's jacket) fallen open over his chest, all that missing but still his body here, the smell of him, everything else, and then he feels Jay's hand leave his hip and suddenly _oh shit_ his cock's wrapped in a wet hand and it's just too much and Butch feels a breathless "Fuck" escaping his throat before he can stop it.

Footsteps below.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Jay goes still beneath him except for his hands dragging Butch down until he's folded over him. Agonizingly still, cock aching, twitching and leaking precome on Jay's t-shirt, Jay's cock throbbing hard inside him. Shitshitshit Danvers is coming up the stairs, they are so fucked, well Butch is pretty fucked already _sonoabitch don't laugh_. His face is pressed into Jay's collarbone trying not to make a sound and he's fucking on fire with the need to move, heart pounding, and every nerve jumping, and-

-where the fuck did Jay throw his pants, they're not on him so they're visible and so are his boots which he stupidly left lying on the table, thank god there's enough junk on the table at any given time but Danvers might notice a random-ass pair of fucking boots that weren't there before and holy fuck this was a bad idea and they're both gonna end up a green goo pile. Here lies Butch DeLoria the stupid fuck who was too busy chasing cock to show some self-preservation. This is what shit happens when both of them let their dicks do the thinking.

Danvers has reached the top of the stairs but he can't risk turning his head to see where she is exactly, 'cause the shimmer of the stealth field is easier to spot when you're moving even a little. Jay's arms are wrapped tight around him, holding him in place, every muscle tight, and his own thighs ache from the tension. Holding so still he becomes suddenly aware of all these little things like - like how he can feel the rough tickle of hair under his ass, like how _stretched_ he feels around Jay's cock (needs to fucking move, oh god), like how the damp fabric of Jay's shirt feels against his cock, like how the corner of Jay's jacket collar is digging into his ear. Jay's hand covers his mouth, fucker, and the only thing Butch can do is bite him, so he does. Jay doesn't make a sound.

The footsteps have stopped. She's gotta be close to them. A few feet, tops. Butch doesn't breathe.

Then the footsteps again. Moving away. Down the stairs. He lets his breathe out really slow, still not moving, not until the sound of footsteps is far enough away. When it stops, he turns his head slowly, just enough to see, between the bars of the railing and the store kiosks, that Danvers is back at her post in the center of the market.

Jay grips his ass hard and thrusts up into him abruptly, and Butch feels a silent gasp of relief hot against his face. He pushes himself back up, clamps a hand over Jay's mouth because fuck if Jay's gonna be the only one doing that, and rocks up and back as hard as he safely can, feeling Jay push up from underneath him, and oh fuck, right _there_, as he rocks back at the same moment Jay thrusts up, Jay's cock hits him _just right_ and he bites hard into the flesh of Jay's hand to keep from crying out. A few more thrusts and he hits it again, oh fucking god he's so close, one more hard grind down on Jay's cock and he's coming in hot jets that flash visible for a just a second before landing on Jay and disappearing, and he's struggling to keep his ragged panting quiet behind Jay's hand. Jay pulls him back down and just holds him still while he thrusts up into him, faster and harder, and when he comes he makes the barest choked sound in his throat and his teeth dig into the heel of Butch's hand which is so hot he'd be hard again if it were physically possible.

Instead he just shifts a little, pulling off Jay's softening cock and then rests his weight back on him, only now realizing how soaked with sweat his shirt is under his jacket. Fuck. That warm hazy post-orgasm feeling's rushing over him and good, and even though their clothes are all messy and sticking together and Jay's spunk is probably leaking out of him onto the table, he really can't give enough of a shit to move right now, as Jay's chest rises and falls heavily under him, a hand trailing along the back of his naked thigh and over the curve of his ass. There's no way they've used up more than half the time on the stealth boys and anyway might as well lay quiet for another minute or two. Just to be safe. Yeah.

Jay's other hand is running languidly through his hair and Butch doesn't even care. Feels good. Fuck it, he's invisible anyway. Butch's eyes start to close. The hand in his hair gives it a tug. Goddammit Jay. Butch elbows him somewhere near his ribs. He feels Jay tremble with silent laughter, and the hand tightens in his hair and then drags his head up so Jay can kiss him. A long, slow kiss, fingers stroking through his hair again in a way that makes him feel relaxed and sort of sleepy. Hands give his body an insistent push and Butch shifts off him with a suppressed groan. Collects his boots, which go invisible again in his hands, and then lowers himself quietly off the table to grab his jeans off the floor.

One final pause to glance at Danvers, and then they're creeping back toward the corner, and the wheel on the door turns slowly in Jay's careful, invisible hands and they slip out into the hallway.

They get a few doors away before Jay releases the snort of laughter he's been holding and they both start snickering uncontrollably.

"She totally fuckin' saw us, B-man."

"You think?"

"Oh fuck yeah. Lana's not stupid."

"Where next?"

"Mutie camp."

"Dismembered legs and shit. Not hot."

"Citadel. Lyons' desk. Hell, Colonel Autumn's desk, wherever the fuck that is. If he has one. If he can even sit down with that American flagpole up his ass."

Butch snorts and stumbles over his half-tied bootlaces, bumping into Jay. "Let's go get a drink."

* * *

><p>It's hours later - too many hours and too many drinks to keep track of - when they run into Danvers coming off her shift. Or rather she runs into them; they may be drunk as shit but Butch could swear she bumps into him on purpose. They're stumbling upstairs from the Rudder, arms slung around each other and leaning on each other for support which only half works when they're both trashed.<p>

"Watch where th' fuck you're goin'," Butch starts to spit off without even thinking, but he barely gets past "Watch-" before Danvers cuts him off with a terse, "I know you kids think you're hot shit and I know the Chief lets you hang around here for reasons I can't fathom. But I catch you punks creeping around on my shift again, I'll throw you off this boat myself. I don't care what Harkness says."

"Wh'ever you say, Lana," Jay slurs, that trademark smirk blazing across his stupid gorgeous drunk face and he pinches Butch's ass hard enough so he jumps and they fall over each other stupid with laughter as Lana pushes past them and disappears around the corner.


	12. Got Your Back

"Butchman. Wake up."

"Ffffuck you," Butch murmurs sleepily.

Jay has this weird habit Butch never knew about until they left the Vault, of getting up really early in the morning. Mornings are not for being up. Mornings are for sleeping and lying around half-sleeping and sometimes sleepy languid fucking but not for getting out of bed. And yet more days than not he wakes up to Jay's side of the bed empty and Jay up cleaning his magnum or repairing his rifle or tinkering with some shit or other.

Okay, fine. Long as he isn't dragging Butch into that early morning shit.

A hand's in his hair ruffling it up and then smoothing it down. "Got stuff to do, B-man."

Butch grabs Jay by the arm and hauls him down on top of himself. "Fuck stuff."

Eyes still closed, he feels Jay moving to push himself up and flings both arms around his neck. "Nuh-uh." Jay stops struggling and flops down on his chest. Butch grunts. That's more like it.

And then Jay pinches his ass, and Butch jumps and gives him a shove. "Oh my god fuck you and your fucking face." Jay laughs at him and hops off the bed. He's already half-dressed. "Get up and get greased. We got shit to do."

Butch rolls out of bed, looking around for the various pieces of his clothes which got thrown more or less all over the room last night. "I hope by 'shit to do' you mean 'food,' 'kicking Shrap's ass at pool,' and 'not being sober.'"

"Nah, man, got a job for us today."

Butch digs his t-shirt out from under the corner of the bed and pulls it over his head. "The fuck do we need a job for?"

"Um, caps?"

"We got a shit-ton of caps."

Jay snorts, slithering into his own t-shirt, muscle rippling as he stretches under the fabric. "Ain't gonna stay that way if you keep racking up the kinda tab you do."

"You're one to talk." Butch snickers.

"Yeah, the difference is _I_ don't act like that shit grows on dead irradiated trees." Jay's voice is suddenly tight.

Butch stretches both arms over his head, then reaches down to scratch an itch. "Jesus, what crawled up your ass this morning?"

Jay takes a deep breath. "Nothing. Forget it."

"Fine. So what's this job?"

"Clear out some muties." Jay sits down in the rolling desk chair to lace up his boots.

"More do-gooder crap? Man, that shit is for the birds. Didn't think we busted outta the Vault to run around saving everyone's ass like fucking Boy Scouts."

"The fuck are you talking about?"

"Like that slave lady the other day."

"Ex-slave and would you shut up about that? I only gave her a few caps to get her off my ass. She was pissing me off, flyin' off the handle every time I went near her."

"You helped her because she pissed you off."

"I didn't do it for _her_, is what I'm saying."

"Whatever." Butch shuffles across the room to retrieve his pants from under the work table. "Can't we just stay inside? I hate it out there."

"Yeah, you hate everything," Jay snaps, rising from the chair. "I got it, okay? The fuck you want to do, sit in the Rudder and drink your ass into a coma every day? Fucking sue me if I want to _do_ something."

"We do all kinds of shit."

"We haven't left the ship for like two days."

"We didn't leave the Vault for nineteen fucking years."

"Right. So excuse me if I don't want to spend every goddamn day of my life inside another fucking rat maze." Jay shrugs his jacket on and shoves a hand into his powerfist.

"Rivet ain't like the Vault."

"Yeah, well, sometimes it's a little too close." Jay snatches up his knapsack and turns toward the door.

"Where you going?"

"Off this fucking boat."

"Fine. Go."

Jay slams the door behind him.

* * *

><p>Butch spends about two minutes sulking in the room before he's bored out of his mind.<p>

To occupy himself he fixes up his hair. Gives it a little extra attention, a little extra pomade this morning, slicking and combing until the ducktail is dead even and the flop at the front is the very sharpest point he can make it. Pockets his comb and smirks at his reflection in the dirty hotel mirror. God damn right. That's what a real Tunnel Snake looks like.

He lays out his leather jacket on the bed, looking for any nicks or cuts that need fixing. Fishes a rag from the pile Jay keeps for cleaning his guns and wipes every speck of dust from the leather, getting into every curve of the snake on the back. Then, because why not, he rubs a little of his hair grease into the rag and polishes it into the leather, front to back, top to bottom, shoulder to wrist, until the whole jacket looks a whole lot shinier and newer than she did yesterday.

Butch tucks his shirt in, slips the jacket on, settles it, straightens the collar. Hell yeah. Now that's a Tunnel Snake. He checks himself out in the mirror. Should be perfect, only something seems off, and it takes him a minute to realize it's the fact that Jay's not behind him grabbing his ass and laughing and saying _Butchman, you are one vain motherfucker._

He unrolls and re-rolls the cuffs on his jeans until they fall just right.

Checks his reflection again.

Butch sighs.

It's weird but he's just not used to being by himself. In the Vault it was always the group of them, and since getting out, always him and Jay. And yeah Jay gets pissy at him sometimes, but he's never just stormed off like that.

His stomach growls suddenly.

Yeah. Maybe go get some food.

* * *

><p>Gary's is hopping at this hour – well, hopping for Gary's, which ain't saying much. Tammy Hargrave's parked at a table sullenly nursing a beer while her kid attacks a bowl of Sugar Bombs. Angela's serving a coupla mercs Butch doesn't recognize. He plunks himself down at a stool.<p>

"Morning!" Gary greets him, way too fucking cheerful for whatever hour of the morning it is. "What can I get you?"

Butch orders the mirelurk cakes, best thing on the menu by far, and an ice-cold Nuka to sip on while he waits. Or chug on. Butch swallows half the bottle in one gulp, the bubbly cold and the rush of sugar perking him up a bit. He sets the bottle down, and pats his pocket. Shit, he left all his caps in the room. Oh well. Just tell Gary to put it on their tab. Pay up later. Gary drops the basket into the fryer with a hiss.

Someone slides into the stool beside him. Butch rubs his thumb around the rim of the bottle and keeps his eyes down, hoping whoever it is has the good sense to leave him the fuck alone.

"What's goin' on, vaultie?"

Oh. It's Shrap. There are worse people.

"'S goin' on," says Butch absently.

"Same old shit."

"Pretty much."

Gary comes over to take Shrapnel's order, and Butch looks away. Tammy's yelling something at her kid, who's scarfing down his cereal like he's not hearing a word of it. The mercs a few tables over are glaring. Cindy Cantelli's come over from her booth and is saying something to Angela.

What the hell's he gonna do with this day. This place is lamer than lame.

"Where's Jay?" Shrap says to him suddenly, making Butch jump. "Don't see the two of you apart very often."

Butch shrugs. "He's off somewhere."

"Uh huh." Shrap eyes him. Those sharp gray eyes needle him until Butch looks away again. Right about then Gary sets a plate of mirelurk cakes in front of him, about damn time, and Butch grabs his fork and tears into them.

Shrap keeps quiet until he gets his own food. Mirelurk cakes for him too. It's Gary's specialty and who would bother with rubbery two-hundred-year-old Salisbury steak or a bowl of salty instant noodles when they could have hot crispy cakes steaming where you cut into the crust, that flavor like nothing Butch ever tasted down in the Vault, fresh shellfish with the faint clinging hint of irradiated river water. Pretty much Butch's favorite thing these days.

"You know," Shrapnel says through a mouthful.

Butch takes a swig of his cola. "What."

Shrap swallows and turns to look him right in the eye. "A partner who's got your back is worth more than caps or bullets, kid."

"What're you tryin' to say?" Butch says.

"Hang on to what you got there, is all I'm saying." Still looking at him with those steely eyes. "If I'da known Flak when I was your age, my life woulda gone a hell of a lot different."

"Uh," Butch says. "Yeah. Sure. I mean, I know that."

Shrap nods and returns his attention to his food. "Good."

Butch swallows the last of his Nuka-Cola. "Yeah. Whatever."

* * *

><p>After breakfast Butch still can't think of fuck-all to do with himself and so he goes down to the Rudder for a drink.<p>

Belle's whiskey tastes more like river water than usual, and sitting at the bar trying to ignore Trinnie's attempts at flirting with him, Butch doesn't feel a whole lot better. Drinking by himself's just depressing anyway. This what he'd be doing all day if he lived alone? Fuck this shit. He downs the rest of his watery drink in one shot, clunks the smudgy glass down on the bar and heads back upstairs.

Finds himself wandering back up to their room, though when he gets there he's not sure why. Nothing to do there by himself but stare at the wall Jay shoved him up against last night. Heh. Which was pretty damn fun. Butch kicks the bedframe and scowls at the wall. So now just hanging out and having a good time isn't enough for Jay? So now _he's_ not enough? When the fuck did that happen?

Butch flops on his back on the messy bed and stares up at the steel ceiling.

* * *

><p>The ceiling gets old fast.<p>

Butch drags his ass back to the marketplace and skulks around the pool table in hopes someone else'll wander up for a game. Anything to kill the time. He's trying not to think about how long it's been since Jay left, and just starting to think another whiskey might help with the not thinking when a couple kids come tearing up the stairs. The Hargrave kid, laughing his ass off, and Vera's nephew hot on his heels howling, "Give it back!"

Leaning back against the pool table, arms crossed, Butch casually sticks a boot out.

The Hargrave kid hits it and goes tumbling ass over teakettle, squawking "Son of a bitch!" Scrambles to his feet. "The hell'd you do that for, vaultie?" He aims a kick at Butch's shins, which Butch dodges, but only just. Kid's fast. Takes off back down the stairs before Butch can retort.

But the other one – Bryan, his name is – doesn't move. He's staring up at Butch with what looks like awe.

Butch snorts. "Whatcha lookin' at, squirt?"

"You tripped James!"

"Good eye, pipsqueak."

"He stole my snack cakes."

"So go knock him down and take 'em back." But the kid just keeps looking at him. "What?"

"Is Mister Jay around?" Bryan asks shyly.

"He's off somewhere. He tell you to call him that?"

"What, Mister? Nah, Papa always told me to call grown-ups Mister and Miss. But I don't know your name, Mister."

"Butch. Just Butch. You ain't gotta use that Mister crap on us."

"Okay, if you say so." Bryan looks away, then glances back at Butch.

"Go get that sucker 'at stole your snack cakes."

Bryan looks doubtful.

"Go on, just go pop him one. He'll be so shocked he won't know what hit him."

"Aunt Vera says I'm not supposed to fight."

Butch pulls out his switchblade and flicks it open. The kid starts a little at the snap of the blade opening. Butch snickers and starts cleaning under his fingernails. "You always do what Aunt Vera tells you to do?"

The kid's eyes are wide and uncertain. "Most of the time."

"Shit, where's the fun in that?" Butch grins. "You gotta take what you want in this world, kid. And don't let anybody push you around."

Bryan looks like he's going to say something, but at that moment the Hargrave kid comes tearing back up the stairs, looking pretty irritated that no one's chasing him anymore. He sneers, "Whatsa matter, Wilksy, you give up already? Or you just decide to have _snake boy_ here fight your battles for you?"

Butch snorts. "You better watch your mouth, Hargrave."

"Or what?"

Butch pretends to study his blade intently, keeping one eye trained on Bryan, who's moved quietly behind James. "Might wanna watch what you call people, is all I'm saying. 'Specially people bigger than you."

"I can t- Hey!" James barks in surprise, as Bryan snatches a packet of Fancy Lads right out of his pocket and takes off down the stairs.

Butch snickers. "You also might wanna watch your six, kid."

"Whatever. I didn't want his stupid snack cakes anyway."

"Yeah, yeah." Butch snaps his blade closed, slips it back in his pocket and crosses his arms, still leaning against the pool table. "You underestimated him. You gotta watch that. Gotta figure you knock somebody down enough times sooner or later they're gonna get up and hit back." Butch's eyes follow Bryan across the marketplace. The kid checks behind him to make sure James isn't following, then disappears out of sight beneath the balcony. "Not how I woulda done it, granted, but he got what he was after."

"What do _you_ know?"

"I know I been runnin' the Tunnel Snakes since I was your age, kid. Baddest gang in the wastes." Granted their early gang activity consisted mostly of pulling the girls' hair and breaking into vending machines, but hey, that seems right up this kid's alley.

"Just 'cause you vaulties got those stupid jackets doesn't make you a gang."

"You got that much right," says a familiar voice from the stairs.

Butch raises an eyebrow because Jay's definitely looking a little worse for wear – hair a mess (well, more than the usual mess) and cheekbone bruised and knuckles cut up on his off hand and grimy all over. But Jay just tosses him a smirk and Butch decides he'll ask later.

Reaching the top, Jay pulls off his powerfist and sets it on the pool table with a metallic clunk. "You want to know what makes us a gang, Hargrave?" He hops up onto the edge of the table beside Butch and cracks his knuckles.

"No," James says sullenly, crossing his arms.

"Yeah, well, I'ma tell you anyway." Jay grins. "We got each other's backs, is what. We look out for each other no matter what. And we don't take anybody else's shit. That's what makes us a gang."

The kid raises his chin defiantly. "I don't take nobody's shit _now_. Not even my mom."

Something about the way the kids spits that last bit out... well, Butch's seen Tammy Hargrave around. Smelled her too – it's not just the booze smell but that stale day-after-day cling of it. Keeps away from her if he can. Too close to home.

"Good for you. That's how you gotta be. But listen." Jay's face turns serious. "You gotta find a friend or two. You gotta have people. Butch here started our gang when we were still stuck in the vault. That's why we're called the Tunnel Snakes. It sucked down there, but we had each other and that made it suck a lot less." Jay doesn't mention the part about him not being in the Snakes for the first seven years, and Butch doesn't either but it gives him an odd sort of twist in his stomach.

"Yeah well I don't need _nobody_," James retorts. "All the other kids are losers anyway."

Jay shrugs. "Sometimes people'll surprise you." He winks at Butch. "Never know who's gonna turn out to be your friend."

* * *

><p>When half the merchants in Rivet City get up and leave their stalls in the middle of the day, it means one of the caravans is here. Caravan buzzes in on the intercom; guard on duty calls it in to the Chief and extends the bridge; Harkness tells the merchants and out they go. Seagrave goes, and Cindy, and Shrapnel, and Angela. Means it's probably Crazy Wolfgang, the junk dealer.<p>

Jay grabs his knapsack, which is a lot lumpier and heavier than when he left this morning, and jumps up to go. Butch goes along. The brightness outside makes his head swim a little. He keeps his eyes low.

The merchants get first pick, but when it's Jay's turn he and Wolfgang greet each other like old friends and kinda slap-shake hands. "Wolfgang, my man! I got junk for ya if you're buying."

Wolfgang grins his particularly wolfish grin. "Always buying, my friend. Always buying. Got more business than ever since your vault opened up."

Butch glances at him, startled. "101's open?"

"Yeah man, you didn't know? Overseer opened it up, sent out a call for trade. All the caravans are stopping there now."

"Well, shit." Butch is kind of impressed at Amata in spite of himself. Guess when it comes down to it the girl can do work after all. "Hey, think you could carry a message out that way?"

"For you guys, I'll even waive the courier fee."

"You got any paper?"

Wolfgang produces a dusty half-sheet of paper and a stub of pencil. Jay unloads a pile of batteries and cans of turpentine while Butch thinks over what to say.

_Ma –_

_Hope your taking care of yourself. _

_Don't worry about me. I'm doing real good up here. _

He thinks another moment, then adds:

_Love ya._

_-Butchie_

He folds the paper in thirds and prints _Ellen DeLoria_ on the back before handing it to Wolfgang, who carefully tucks the letter into a pocket of his coat. "I'll make sure she gets it."

"Hey," Jay says, "You got any more paper and pencils in there?"

Wolfgang pulls up a flap of canvas and rummages through one of the pouches buckled onto his pack brahmin. "I think I can help you out."

"Excellent," Jay says. "I'll take whatever you've got."

* * *

><p>"Paper?" Butch asks once they're back inside.<p>

Jay nods slowly. "Thinkin' about drawing again."

"Cool." Butch is quiet for moment, then adds, "Where'd you go this morning?"

"Cleared out that mutie camp up the road."

"Again?"

"Gotta keep it clear or they attack the caravans."

Butch snickers. "Boy Scout."

"Boy Scout nothing. I'm protecting my goddamn investments." Jay shifts the much lighter knapsack on his shoulder. "Went and did some scaving down in the metros after. What'd you do with yourself while I was gone?"

"Stuff."

Jay snickers now. "Admit it. You missed me." He stops half a pace behind Butch and throws both arms around his waist right there in the hallway, yanking Butch back against him. "Unph," Butch grunts, elbowing Jay in the ribs, but Jay just laughs and tightens his hold, leaning his chin on Butch's shoulder.

"You're fucking up my hair, asshole."

He can hear the grin in Jay's voice when he says, "What the fuck would you do without me."

"You arrogant sack of shit."

"You greasy punkass motherfucker."


	13. That Thing Up There

Butch doesn't figure out why Jay's carrying a lead pipe until they get out onto the flight deck and Jay shuts the door behind them, then jams the pipe in between the sliding metal bars. He tries the wheel. "That oughta hold. Keep those fuckers off our asses a while."

Butch feels edgy. The wind whistles across the flight deck, deserted except for them and a lot of old planes. Two to their left and a whole bunch more on the far end. Butch wonders if any of them would still fly. Not that he'd ever be caught dead in some crazy pre-war sky machine.

Straight ahead, the other side of the river, and the ruins of outer DC ragged and skeletal against the gray-white cloud cover. You wouldn't think an overcast sky would be so _bright_. Nothing like the clear blue and bright sun in pictures and old holos. But it hurts Butch's eyes to look at it, especially high in the sky where a searing bright spot gives away the sun's position behind the clouds.

He drops his eyes to the deck, and feels Jay at his back suddenly, close and intent. Hands possessively on his hips. "Close your eyes."

"Why?" Butch says, immediately suspicious.

Jay's hands tighten on him. "Trust me."

"I did until you said that. The fuck are you doing?"

Teeth nip at the back of his neck in response. Butch sighs half with pleasure, half with irritation as he closes his eyes. "You really want to do this out here? What if it starts – like, raining or something?"

Jay's nudging him forward now. "It's not gonna rain."

"And you'd know that how?"

Jay snickers. "'Cause I'm a fuckin' genius like that."

Butch goes quiet and lets himself be maneuvered. With his eyes closed, the uneven currents of wind against his face are a constant uncomfortable reminder that he's _outside_, nothing but sky over his head. Not even the small comfort of ruined walls rising up on either side of him. He's also aware they're moving closer to the edge of the deck but he's lost any sense of how close they are, and he's tensing with every step, stupid because Jay's right behind him, guiding him. Still it's a relief when they stop moving, and the hands on his hips press him toward the deck. He goes to his knees willingly. Feels better closer to the ground. Why the fuck's he going along with this again? Another gust of wind hits them, feeling gritty on his face. He opens his eyes just a sliver – enough to see the dull shine of metal under his knees.

Jay's mouth is on him again, trailing kisses and small bites down his neck as he moves a hand up to unzip his jacket. Butch reaches back to grope for Jay's zipper and Jay shoves his hand away without a word, tugging his jacket of his shoulders. "What're you in such a rush for?" Butch asks, raising his arms to let his t-shirt be pulled off. Jay bites his ear but doesn't answer. His hands leave Butch for a moment and behind him Butch hears the zip and rustle of Jay's jacket coming off, and then bare arms are back around him and hands slide over his chest, both thumbs brushing over his nipples and Butch gets the weird feeling like he's being studied, memorized, as Jay's fingers climb down his ribs and trace over his abs and his stomach. The dusty breeze on his skin and this careful way Jay's touching him makes him feel strange all over in a way he's not sure he likes. Goosebumps crawl over his arms.

Jay's hands head south then, and Butch is still only about half-hard but Jay drags a thumb down the line of his fly, cups him in a warm hand and gives him a squeeze, and Butch lets his eyes close fully and tries to focus on just that, feeling himself relax a little and grow harder. Jay presses in closer at his back as he's touching him, his own hard bulge grinding against Butch's ass, and that helps too. He shivers a little at the loss of touch when Jay's hands move to unbutton and unzip his jeans, and shivers harder at the sudden rush of air against his skin as his pants are shoved down his thighs, undershorts and all. And then-

"Open your eyes."

He's not expecting to feel it quite so hard, but it's everything at once, the open edge of the flight deck only a few feet in front of him, the long stretch of horizon, the fucking endless expanse overhead and feeling so exposed in the face of all of it. Vertigo rushes over him, his head swims and his knees go weak, and he almost lurches forward, would if not for Jay holding him, his arms tightening reflexively, pinning Butch's arms against his sides and his body tight against Jay's – and it's that pinned feeling, tight and secure, that brings him back.

"B-man. Butch. You okay?" Jay says it twice before he can focus again enough to nod.

"You want to stop, we can stop," Jay murmurs against his ear. "You can always tell me to stop, okay?"

He almost does, too. Closest he's ever come. Almost says can we please just go inside and fuck under a roof like fucking civilized human beings. Okay, he wouldn't say please, but he thinks it which is weird enough. He hesitates for a good long minute, and Jay just waits on him - Jay who can't stop moving for five second just holds still, holding him, and his warm solidness is calming and safe-feeling and then Butch starts feels kind of indignant about feeling safe and he snaps out, "I'm _fine_, fucking fuck me already," and Jay laughs a quiet but satisfied laugh. He kisses the back of Butch's neck and murmurs, "I gotta let go for a minute. You can close your eyes if you want."

Butch doesn't close them but drops his eyes to the floor while Jay gets his own pants down – still wearing his shirt, the bastard. Butch sighs at the feeling of teeth along the top of his shoulderblade as Jay returns his attention to him, and generously lubed fingers push into his ass with the familiar twinge that subsides as they work in and out of him. "God, you're really tight right now," Jay breathes into his back, nipping along his spine.

Butch snorts even as need twists in his gut, and already he's wanting more than Jay's fingers. "Since when is that a problem for you?"

Jay lets out a short laugh that feels hot and just a little breathless against his skin. "Want you to try and relax a little for me." He scissors his fingers and Butch groans, feeling himself throb in the open air. Jay twists as he drags out. Deliberately _not_ going for his prostate, Butch can't help noticing – just stretching him. Not that that's really a problem. "You gonna fuck me or just admire the view?" Butch asks, his own voice gone just a little breathless – okay, more than a little, especially with the way Jay's biting his shoulder while he works his fingers.

Another hot breath of laughter. "It's a pretty fucking good view," Jay shoots back, dragging a calloused thumb in an arc across his cheek as he drags his fingers out. His cock is suddenly hard and heavy against the cleft of Butch's ass, and Butch grinds back instinctively. Jay pulls away for a moment to get himself ready, and then he's gripping Butch's hips with steady hands, slowly pulling him back onto his cock. Like his fingers, he's slicked up extra good and the push in feels wet and smooth and easy. "Gonna go through the lube in a week if you keep up like that," Butch says, hearing his own voice drop lower, rougher, at that welcome feeling of fullness. But Jay's gone quiet again, just pulling him close, and Butch presses back into him until he feels Jay's balls against his ass and Jay's cock _so_ fucking deep inside him. Jay grunts appreciatively and squeezes Butch tight against him, palms flat against his chest, just barely moving his hips in small circles.

He doesn't realize he's let his eyes close until Jay's right hand slides up his chest, thumb brushing a nipple, bumping over his collarbone, and coming to rest over his throat. Butch almost flinches away, swallows instead, Adam's apple bobbing against Jay's palm.

"Open your eyes again for me?" Jay murmurs, lips against his jaw, a curl of his hair tickling Butch's neck.

In some small corner of his awareness he knows the control it takes for Jay not to just _thrust_. Feels it in the tension of the arms holding him, Jay's tight controlled breaths, his t-shirt damp with sweat and sticking to Butch's back. But he can also feel how much Jay gets off on this, the control, how _hard_ he is all over - not just his cock, his whole body's a coiled spring, a live wire, and hot and tight and electric, and as Butch opens his eyes again on the long horizon of broken city, he feels in an almost detached way how his own body responds to that – how he throbs and aches with familiar need at that cocky sonofabitch voice gone low and deliberate, telling him what to do. How that voice feels as solid and steady as Jay's body against him.

He inhales, sharper than he means to, shifts his weight forward for a moment and hooks his feet over Jay's calves, bracing himself so he can push back harder. Jay makes a soft _Mm_ sound into his neck but just keeps up his slow grind, not enough to get any real friction, just enough to make Butch ache for it.

"Look up." Jay's voice is low and firm at his ear.

Butch doesn't have much choice about that. Jay's hand keeps him from looking down. Slowly nudges his chin higher.

"Open your eyes. All the way."

The sky sears at his eyes. Fucking _light_. Too much. Why would anybody want so much light. Butch feels a gasp tear out of his throat, trembling against Jay's hand, and his eyes involuntarily snap shut. Blasts of gray-white sunburst against the back of his eyelids.

"Good." Jay's voice is warm. Breathing against his ear, over the side of his face. The hand at his throat relaxes, and Butch drops his chin with a grateful whimper. "Take it easy, babe. I got you."

Jay's hand slips down to his collarbone, he presses up tight against Butch's back, hot and solid and safe and enveloping him. He lets out a shaky sigh and lets his eyes half-open on the horizon as he feels Jay's lips on his neck, kissing behind his ear. Jay rolls his hips and back and snaps them forward, the unexpected friction drawing a groan from Butch, and he does it again, murmuring, "You want more?" Butch just nods, doesn't feel like he should be the one talking right now, and Jay snaps his hips a little harder, sinks his teeth into the curve of Butch's shoulder. Butch moans, and Jay's tongue smooths over the indentations of his teeth. "You're doin' real good, B-man. Really good." There's a kind of soft authority in his voice that makes Butch's skin prickle. That's what it is there – a hint of his dad in that voice, except coming from the doc it always sounded condescending. Coming from Jay, it's hot, but more than that. It makes his stomach flip at the same time it makes him relax. Like falling with your eyes closed, knowing someone's gonna catch you. "I'm gonna give you more. Gonna need you to do something, too." Butch knew that was coming and he can feel himself tensing again, steeling himself to stare into the white again.

"I'm gonna take care of you, but you gotta look up for me." Another bite, higher this time. Jay rolls his hips into Butch's ass, solid and steady, and slow. The hand on his shoulder slides back up under his throat, tipping his chin up, eyes into the gray. "Okay?"

Butch focuses on a darker patch of cloud as Jay moves a little behind him, shifting a little and then a little more until he finds the angle that draws a shudder from Butch and he breathes in his ear, "That good, right like that?"

"_Fuck_, yeah, right there," Butch groans, rocking back on Jay's cock to feel that hot pressure, legs shaking from it and he's starting to feel a little dizzy again, but it's not as bad as before – more of a disconnected, floaty feeling, his vision blurring at the edges, even the sound of Jay's _good good good_ blurring in his ear, the only sharp thing his own body lit with pleasure, searing like the sky at his eyes and he hears himself gasp, _please fuck __please_, and vaguely realizes Jay's not even going to give him a hand, he's going to make him come just like this, just his cock, and every inch of him feels raw, and Butch feels so ready to explode he could die, so close, so close _so fucking close_-

When it hits him – it's more like he slides into it, all of his control gone and he can't even help how his eyes drop closed against the harsh gray-white sky, his ears roar and he shudders against Jay who just holds him locked in his embrace as tight waves of pleasure roll from deep inside him through his cock base to tip.

He sags back against Jay, only now feeling how tight his thigh muscles are, how everything aches as he relaxes. Jay carefully pulls out of him, the emptiness only making Butch feel more lethargic. Jay settles back and folds himself around Butch again, spreading his knees to hug Butch's hips, and his cock is still kind of poking Butch in the back but fuck if he can care right now, and just holds him, tangling fingers through his hair and kissing his neck, and Butch kind of zones out for a while.

He has no idea how long it's been when he starts to come out of it, shifting lazily, steadying himself with a hand on Jay's thigh. Moves his hand back a little and a little more. Jay grunts softly when Butch's hand wraps around his dick, still out of his pants and still mostly hard.

Butch's legs are still stiff, and he groans a little as he shifts forward on his knees, turning himself around to straddle Jay's thighs and wrap a hand around his cock, using his other hand to tug up the hem of Jay's shirt, muttering, "What's a guy gotta do to get you naked, huh?" Jay laughs and pulls his shirt off with protest as Butch strokes him back to hardness. It doesn't take long, pumping him in fast strokes, before Jay's spilling hot over his hand, and his hard gasp, his own control finally letting go, tugs at something deep in Butch's gut.

Jay grabs one of their t-shirts from behind him, and they clean themselves up – well, mostly Jay cleans them both up, and then they lean in for one more messy kiss, all tongue and teeth and Butch bites Jay's lip just as he's about to pull away and Jay bites back and they kiss some more before Butch finally breaks it. "Let's get inside, huh? I hate it out here," and Jay just snickers and Butch can't help letting his smirk break into a grin.


End file.
